


Love is a Rose

by callmecasandra



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternative Universe - Happily Ever After, Canon-Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmecasandra/pseuds/callmecasandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Riordan's plan had worked? A happily ever after for Alistair and Elissa nee Cousland. </p><p>Spoilers for DAO, Soldier's Peak, Return to Ostagar and Awakening. </p><p>"My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire" -- but this is Thedas, and the trouble can be troubling, so please be kind to yourself and heed the warnings if necessary. Canon-typical violence of all types may (and likely will) be referenced.</p><p>EDIT: Since DAI has come out, I can no longer see myself finishing this fic. It's not impossible, but it's incredibly unlikely. My sincere apologies to those of you who've followed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note about the Warden: this story uses the default name "Elissa" and the Cousland of this story fits the dutiful/(try to) do-the-right-thing mould. 
> 
> This story goes AU mid-battle: Morrigan's offer has been turned down, but Riordan's efforts bear fruit; he survives his aerial assault, and later, as the eldest of the Wardens, strikes the killing blow. 
> 
> Alistair and Elissa are crowned Ferelden's King and Queen, and live happily ever after. 
> 
> Well… mostly. 
> 
> And this is that tale.

Alistair had slept in a lot of places. A lot of less than ideal places, frankly. In a stables, on hay. On the thin mattresses of the monastery. On bedrolls, damp and smelling of the ground on which they lay. On cots, in infirmaries, from time to time. On the floor of a cell in Fort Drakon, the bodies of the dead piled together, all too nearby… though that, probably, was stretching the definition of sleep. 

But he would not sleep here, in this bed where his brother had lay with his wife. He stared at it, and thought. He could probably track down where his bedroll had ended up… he scrubbed his face with his hand. No. He was in a palace. And not as a guest, either. He was… well, he was the King. He could just, well, ask for a new bed. That would work, right?

Yes. Of course it would work, especially if he remembered not to phrase it like a question. He wondered if he should just get a whole new room, but symbols were important. He wasn't entirely stupid, despite what some people thought. Refusing to sleep in Cailan's bed would look superstitious at worst, and kinder people would think it respectful. But giving up the room would make it look like he didn't think he belonged there. And being king was about so much more than blood. He knew that now. 

Alistair poked his head out into the corridor. A pair of guards stood at the end of the hall, but Alistair didn't even know their names. He wondered if he could trust them, and silently cursed Loghain once more for all the damage he'd done with his civil war. He considered his options. He didn't even know who to go to, to ask for a new bed. He realised he'd have to get a staff of some kind together, and probably soon. Eamon could help with that. Elissa, too. Both Ferelden's new king and queen had been raised in castles, as it turned out, though only one of them knew anything about running one. 

But Elissa, sadly, was not here to help. She'd left after the ceremony with that look in her eye that spoke of a long list of unpleasant chores to get through before the day was out. She hadn't burdened Alistair with the details, however, though he knew he'd get the story later. 

She could be like that. He'd grown to rely on her so fast, to share his pain -- and rare pleasures -- with her easily. She'd been quieter, more circumspect. He still shuddered, inwardly, when he recalled asking her if she's ever lost anyone close to her, one night as she spoken, comfortingly, to him about Duncan. But his pain had been borne of the horror of that dark night at Ostagar -- losing Duncan, and the brother he'd barely begun to find in one fell swoop. Hers -- hers, he'd learned later ran a little deeper, a little colder. She hadn't lost her family the way he'd lost his -- oh, they were superficially similar, both Cailan and Bryce betrayed by men they'd called friends, men who'd won glory and honour during the Rebellion -- but she hadn't lost her family; she'd walked away. 

Oh, it had been that or death, and she knew it. Alistair remembered now of how, when she'd first told him of it, thinking she'd made the right choice, though it had broken his heart a little to think of her making it. But now he understood her better. He remembered her telling the Guardian that she'd had to live, to tell Fergus they were betrayed, and how that admission had taken him by surprise. It wouldn't be until later that he'd realised how political an animal his lover truly was… and until later again that he'd realise how little that part of her mattered. She could be so political, so pragmatic -- but what had really mattered in that moment, above avenging her family and punishing Howe had been the decision made between Bryce Cousland and Duncan of the Grey Wardens. It had been as good as a Conscription, as far as she was concerned, and she bowed her head to her duty, as always.

Alistair understood that, a little. He knew he was dutiful, too, though he knew also that he sometimes resented the burdens his duties represented. The only duty he'd never resented was being a Grey Warden… and he couldn't even say why. It wasn't like being a Grey Warden wasn't also a burden, it was, and unlike the others it was one he could never shirk ( _we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn_ ). He shrugged to himself, staring down the hall. 

Well, all the more reason to get a bed he could sleep in, so she could sleep in it too. 

And whisper to him, before she drifted off, of whatever deeds she'd left to carry out.

He went downstairs to find Eamon.

+++ +++ +++ 

Some things could not wait until the after the battle. Ro… Ser Gilmore's body, she and Alistair had seen to, returning to Fort Drakon themselves to retrieve. To burn.

But for more than that she could not hold off the long march to Redcliffe; she smiled to herself. Better that she had, in fact. They'd only had to turn around and return. At least if they'd stayed in the city they'd have been rested.

Well, there was sadly no changing the past. 

But thankfully, sometimes you could salvage it. So today, after the coronation-cum-wedding-cum-victory celebration, Elissa had sought out Soris and Shianni and had a frank discussion with them, and then with Hahren Valendrian and Cyrion Tabris. With all the details firmly in hand, she knew her instinct to keep Vaughan Kendells locked up had been a good one. Still, she and Alistair would have to do something about him quickly, and a new Arl of Denerim found. But that could wait until tomorrow.

Ser Cauthrien would also have to wait until tomorrow. Elissa still had little idea of what to say to her. It might have been better to question her first, before speaking to Anora… but Anora couldn't wait. 

With a sort of combination of regret and resignation, Elissa climbed the steps to Anora's prison. It wasn't a terrible prison -- Elissa fancied she was something of an expert on Ferelden's myriad dungeons, jail cells, and brigs. This made the even the Circle Tower look drab and uncomfortable. Still, Elissa was not happy to have Anora locked up. She had been a serviceable queen, if a bit too ambitious and too ambiguous in her loyalties. 

But Elissa was good at second chances. She'd learned how in the course of her journey. Morrigan, the apostate mage with the acid tongue had become a friend; Leliana, once an Orlesian bard had become something like a confident; she'd even recruited Zevran, her would-be assassin, to her little band of knights errant. 

When Elissa reached the top of the tower, she saw Wynne peering at her over the top of a book. Truthfully, Elissa did not have enough people she could trust with this task. Arl Eamon had lent a few knights and soldiers loyal to him to man Anora's prison until they could return to Denerim, but Elissa had liked neither the arrangement nor the symbolism. Leliana had hastily acquired a few priests as female companions and guards to the queen, before they left, but now Leliana and Wynne took turns guarding the door, both protecting the queen, and protecting everyone else from Anora's silver tongue. Leliana and Wynne, Elissa knew, would be sympathetic to Anora, without being willing to be swayed by any blandishments she might offer. 

Elissa knocked lightly and waited. She'd prefer to be invited in, of course, but she wouldn't be turned away… she heard a muffled, "come", and her lips twitched slightly. Her first introduction to Anora had been through a door. She let herself in.

Anora's prison was not so much a cell as a small apartment. Presently, they stood in a good-sized room that doubled as parlour and dining room. Off to one side, Elissa knew, was Anora's bedroom. To another, through two doors, a small privy. 

Elissa had yet to see her own rooms, and wondered idly if they would be so nice. This was certainly grander than even her parents' room had been. But then, the tower had not been built with the intention of holding prisoners. It was just convenient for that purpose, being easily defensible and suitable for stashing the highborn. Elissa wondered suddenly how Alistair had known of it. 

"Elissa," Anora said quietly, not quite clasping her hands quickly enough to still them. 

So Anora wasn't entirely sure how to play this. Good. "Anora," Elissa returned quietly. 

"Have you come to -- to kill me, yourself, then?" Anora said, her voice almost light, bar that odd waver in the middle. 

But Elissa was too surprised by the question to be properly impressed by Anora's sang-froid. "No," she said quickly. "I'm not here to kill you. Killing you is not something that's -- it's not going to happen." Unless it absolutely has to, Elissa admitted to herself. She would kill Anora if it came down to it. But they were a long way from that ugly place, right now.

Anora's stance visibly eased, and she sat. 

It crossed Elissa's mind to remind Anora that she was queen no longer, but she let it slide unremarked, and sat as well. Let them be equals for this. 

"I… should not have said that I would not have spared Alistair's life, had our situations been reversed. That was unnecessary, and I hope now, untrue," Anora began haltingly.

"That's as may be," Elissa said quietly. She, too, hoped that Anora might have reconsidered. But given how Alistair had bayed for Loghain's blood, Elissa was not at all certain it things would have transpired differently. More importantly, that moment of honesty was part of Elissa's reason for hoping Anora could be trusted with a second chance. "But I appreciated the honesty."

Anora glanced up at this. 

Elissa continued. "It was the fact that I could not quite pin down your part in the trap we found ourselves in that forced me to not trust you as an ally. Had Cauthrien attempted to corral us all, I would have fought our way out. But she didn't. She just captured Alistair and I. Not Erlina, who was surely known to her, nor either of my companions. She didn't even remark on Erlina's presence, nor attempt to unmask the guard who seemed to accompany us." Elissa paused. "Strange, don't you think?"

Anora pursed her lips, but said nothing.

"Of course, it's possibly Cauthrien's feelings were mixed on the subject. She could let you escape and capture us; that would make sense. I must confess however, as I let her bind Alistair and I, so you could escape, that I wondered. And then, when I spoke to you, you refused to consider Alistair -- Cailan's heir, legally, and we both know it -- and when you spoke of your claim being as 'the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general' I wondered more. I could understand your desire to keep your throne. You were an able enough queen, though now much credit for that you truly deserved, I wonder."

Anora shook her head. "I deserved the credit I received for that," she insisted.

"Truly? You claim to have been the true power behind the throne, Anora. And I do not doubt you capable enough. But I met Cailan. And stood with him at Ostagar. He may not have been your father's equal in tactics and strategy, but he had the heart of a king. It was he who kept his brother out of the battle, because he did not believe he would survive it." 

Anora drew breath, whether in surprise at this news or to dispute it, Elissa did not wait to find out. "I found some letters of his, when Alistair and I returned to Ostagar."

"Did you -- did you find Cailan?" Anora asked, though her face was shuttered, unreadable.

"Yes," Elissa said, wondering how much to tell. "And climbed the darkspawn scaffold on which his body hung, naked, to unwind him from it as Alistair waited below to catch his brother's body." Anora flinched, as though slapped, though Elissa told the story as flatly as she could, revealing none of the pain she still felt. "Your father claimed that he could not save the king from his own foolishness. But in his haste to return to Denerim and secure the city, did it never occur to him to send a small group to retrieve Cailan's body? No," Elissa continued. "Because he did not return to the capital to secure it, but to take it. And he abandoned Cailan not to his own foolishness but to treachery. Do you really imagine that if you had not been queen, that your father would have betrayed us at Ostagar?"

"If he believed that Cailan conspired against Ferelden," Anora began. "Especially with Orlais…"

"Yes. He might have felt moved to remove the king from the throne. But your father could be very subtle. He could easily have killed Cailan without betraying all those troops at Ostagar."

"Ostagar could never have been won! You said so, just a moment ago."

"I said Cailan believed that. I am not so certain of it, myself. Your father's strategy seemed sound to me. But even were that the case, even a loss at Ostagar might have saved much of the south from the darkspawn. But your father stole the chance to break the horde." Elissa let this reminder of the cost to Ferelden sink in. "The truth of the matter is that your father needed not only to remove Cailan from the throne, but he needed his forces intact to help himself to it. Or did you fail to notice that your father named himself your regent -- belying his claims that he believed you to be a strong leader -- and then, how quickly his men came to call him their king?" Anora looked troubled, but said nothing. "Or how quickly he took to acting as if the banns bent knee to the king of Ferelden like the lords and ladies of Orlais do their empress? Or that he ordered Eamon poisoned ever before he moved against Cailan? Or how frequently he deputised Maric into his arguments, as though Maric would condone him murdering his son, and parading about like the emperor he fought so long to overthrow?"

Anora flinched, but found her voice. "You speak to me of my father. You know I cannot…" she trailed off, as though searching for words. 

Elissa took pity on her. "I know. And I would leave you your fantasies if I thought it would bring you peace. But I do not. You cannot be trusted so long as you believe yourself and your father wronged by Alistair and I. I would have let you keep the throne, you know. For Alistair's sake, and in deference to your skill as our leader, had you spoken out against your father at the Landsmeet. But you would only do so with my guarantee of support your throne. That… boded, Anora. I even suggested, and do not imagine I did so lightly, the possibility of a marriage between you and Alistair. But you made it clear that you wished to rule alone."

"I had good reasons not to wish to marry Alistair," Anora said, a little reproachfully.

"Perhaps. But it spoke to against your willingness to compromise, when both Alistair and I would have been giving up at least as much in such an arrangement."

"You truly expect me to believe that you would have stepped aside," Anora began.

"Yes," Elissa said. "Because it is true. Since the moment Rendon Howe murdered my family, I have made a great many choices, and few of them have been to my benefit, none of them for my exclusive benefit, and most of them have been unpleasant. Do you imagine I wouldn't? Is that, perhaps, because you would not have, Anora? Do you know the Grey Warden motto? 'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.' So far, I think it safe it safe to say that in the case of Alistair and myself it has been: In war, sacrifice. In peace, sacrifice. In death, well, are you sensing a theme?" Alistair's odd mannerisms were rubbing off on her, it seemed, and she snorted demurely. 

"You are the king and queen of Ferelden," Anora remarked dryly. 

"And the fact that you do not regard that as a sacrifice is inherently worrying, Anora," Elissa told her frankly. "Do you imagine Alistair wants to be king? Even after your betrayal at the Landsmeet he could barely stomach the idea. All Alistair has ever wanted to be is a Grey Warden. You know this to be true." 

"You are a different matter," Anora pointed out.

"I am also a Grey Warden. By my father's however-reluctant choice, by the way. Had Fergus perished, I would have sought a way to return home, a way to balance my responsibilities to Highever and the Grey Wardens. I do not know whether I would have succeeded or not. But do not imagine I lusted after your throne, Anora. It was your death-grip on it that cost you it, ultimately."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Elissa wondered once more what was going through Anora's head. Dare she hope? "Have you ever wondered why Alistair was with me when I went to rescue you?" She must have. It would have been far wiser to keep him at Eamon's estate.

"I have, yes," Anora admitted. "It seemed… imprudent, all things considered."

"I would not have brought him. I wanted to leave him behind. There were so many reasons: it could all too easily have been a trap; the king of Ferelden does not normally bring troops against the banns; there were, so far as we knew then, only two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, and no darkspawn in Howe's estate to fight. But Alistair insisted. Who had better right to rescue Ferelden's queen than her king? And surely, as Cailan's brother, he had a responsibility to protect his brother's widow?" 

"I must confess," Anora said slowly, "that you leave me feeling somewhat… ashamed of myself." Elissa waited. She knew Anora was not finished. "But I must also admit that my… concerns about Alistair's readiness to be king remain. He is certainly my moral superior, I have no doubt, but to be a good king requires more than simply being a good man. It requires a head for politics, and politics requires a certain pragmatism that Alistair lacks." She paused again, and looked at Elissa appraisingly. "But then, you do not." 

Anora rose and paced behind the sofa. Elissa followed her silently, with her eyes.

Eventually, Anora spoke again. "It was a trap, of a sort. But for Howe, you must understand. And I did rather get myself in a tight spot. I would have sent Erlina to Cauthrien, but then you arrived in the city, and I saw the chance to -- well, wretch control of Ferelden back from my father. You must understand, I was in a difficult position. It is hard to believe, even now, that my father's sudden lust for power was anything other than madness. I did not truthfully believe I was in danger from my father -- though I confess it did cross my mind. He had, if not orchestrated Cailan's death, certainly allowed it. And that was not something I could easily fathom. Cailan had been like a son to him. Maric like a brother! If he could so easily abandon Cailan to death, I could not be entirely sure he would not do likewise to me." This all came out quickly, as though Anora could hardly bear to think about what she was saying. 

That was perhaps the case, Elissa reflected. 

"I think you are right, that Cauthrien suspected something when she stopped us. She loved my father greatly, you must understand. She was… also in a difficult position. I could hardly believe it when you surrendered. And less when Cauthrien let the rest of us go. You are a shrewd judge of character, I must admit."

And was that silver-tongued Anora or honest Anora? Elissa wasn't that good a judge of character. She reflected on her long-past half-bewildered admission to Flemeth: _"I don't know what to believe." "A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies."_ It had been a useful reminder, and stuck with her. She smiled wanly. 

"I -- we began preparations immediately on returning to Eamon's estate to free both of you. It was a blessed relief to see both you and Alistair unharmed."

Elissa spoke softly. "We were not unharmed, Anora." She met Anora's eyes, and Anora sank back down on to the sofa. "After you escaped, Alistair and I were stunned. I awoke dressed only in my small clothes, on the floor of a filthy cell overlooking a torture pit, the bodies of the dead piled like discarded scraps in sight of the door." She turned her mind from that terrible vista and remembered the sight of Alistair, eyes terrified, uncertain if Elissa would even wake up, uncertain if they'd just traded their lives for Anora's, uncertain of what it would mean if they had, uncertain if he would have to face the coming torture alone, or with the woman he loved at this side, uncertain which would be worse. She turned her mind from Alistair too. "And I do not imagine I was stripped with either gentleness or courtesy, or that my guards were not merely waiting until I awoke to begin their torment."

"But nothing worse happened?" Anora asked anxiously.

"I broke out of my cell, yes, before the guards could come for either Alistair or I." Her mind turned back to the sword-sharp memory of the torture pit. "And as I made my way out of my prison, Anora," she said, voice hardening, "I walked past the body of a man I last saw holding the doors of my childhood home closed, so that my parents might have a chance to take me and escape. Tortured to death, and not, I draw your attention to, in Howe's clutches, but your father's. Had I found his body in the Arl of Denerim's estate, it would have been a blow. To know that he lived -- was kept alive, kept prisoner -- for so long, in such pain, and that I arrived too late to save him?" Elissa could feel tears threatening and paused, taking a moment, and a deep breath. "But that is nothing next to the realisation that it was not because of Howe's unfathomable _idée fixe_ with my father and my family, but instead must have been so he could be questioned about me?"

Anora's voice was very soft when she spoke, "May I ask this man's name?"

Silver-tongued Anora or honest Anora? Perhaps Anora didn't even know yet why she wanted the information. "Ser Gilmore. Ser Roland Gilmore." Elissa heard her voice waver as she spoke, but could do nothing about it.

There was a pause before Anora began, delicately, "Was he --"

But Elissa cut her off. "He was a friend, such as we could be given our roles. I knew I was to be married off -- frankly, I thought Howe was sizing me up for marriage to Thomas when we spoke, and I know Lady Landra was hopeful for the same to her son Dairren," she cut herself off, remembering their butchered bodies too. "I cared for him a great deal." And, yes, she would have much preferred Ser Gilmore as a potential mate than either of the proffered noble sons, both on his own merits and because she could have stayed in Highever, but it was a childish dream and she would not share it with Anora. She hadn't shared it with anyone, come to think of it.

"I forgot, in thinking on my own losses, that you know loss even more intimately," Anora said quietly.

"It's hardly a competition," Elissa said.

"No. It is not. But I should not act -- or think -- like I am the only one here who has suffered, for I am not." Honest Anora, Elissa guessed. But hard to say for sure. "But as much as I appreciate the change in perspective, hard as it is to face, I somehow doubt that was your sole purpose in coming here."

"It was most of it," Elissa said.

"Truly?" Anora asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Truly," Elissa sighed. "I told you I could not trust you while I believed you thought yourself wronged by Alistair and I. What I did not say is that I would very much like to trust you, Anora." 

The obvious question was 'why', but Anora was too savvy to ask it aloud. Elissa let it hang in the air, unvoiced.

"Politics and pragmatism suggest that it would be unwise to allow you to remain in the tower as a focus for the next party who decides they are unhappy with the current state of affairs. You must know this."

Anora nodded. 

Elissa continued. "It was why Eamon demanded your renunciation of the throne for yourself and your heirs. You did not make it at the Landsmeet, but I ask that you reconsider." Elissa held up her hand to discourage Anora's interruption. "We can even paint your refusal as wise, given the battle that awaited Alistair and I. Had we both perished, and you had made such an oath, well, that would have left quite the mess. But I cannot allow you to become a focus for potential revolt, Anora. I will not kill you, but I will leave you locked in this tower, and I will not feel more than a little regret at doing so. I do not pretend you would be making it entirely freely, but as you admitted yourself in front of the Landsmeet, you would have asked the same of Alistair, and on pain of death." She held up her hand again. "And I am not asking it merely so you may secure your freedom, or rid Ferelden of a potential focus for the discontented."

Anora's brow raised at this, as she scented the coming carrot. Elissa smiled. 

"Am I to be offered a cup of darkspawn blood, then?" Anora asked.

Or perhaps not. Truthfully, it had crossed Elissa's mind, but the spectre of Sophia Dryden was potent warning against such an act. 

"No," Elissa said, shaking her head. "I was thinking instead that I find myself without a Teyrn in Gwaren or an Arl of Denerim." 

Anora was silent for a moment, and when she spoke she did not immediately address Elissa's point. "What of Amaranthine? I had considered granting it in its entirety to you, or the Wardens, for your efforts."

"It is the opinion of Bann Sighard that Thomas had no part in his father's machinations. As for supporting your father -- well. A great many banns did that, and most for good reason. At present, I am inclined to leave Amaranthine to the Howes, but that is dependent on further investigation. Suffice it to say the matter of Amaranthine is not entirely settled. But its particular future is hardly relevant to your decision." 

Anora pursed her lips. "You would truly give me the Teyrnir of Gwaren?"

"Yes," Elissa said. "Why would I not? But only if you give up your claims to the throne for yourself and your heirs and do so quickly and publicly." 

"Quickly?" Anora asked.

"Less chance of brewing up lies about how you were 'forced' to swear," Elissa said flatly.

"I'm sure my Chantry guards could defend you should such rumours begin," Anora said, sounding a little amused.

"The Chantry priests, Anora, were to ensure you were not left in prison with only male soldiers as guards."

Anora faltered. "You are right, Warden. I apologise. I realise how… unpleasant that would have had the potential to be. I am grateful that you were so thoughtful." 

"Well, Anora? Is the probably-vain hope that you will somehow find your way back to the throne worth giving up the Teyrnir of Gwaren for?"

"No," Anora said quietly. "But I find myself wondering if it is not merely a trick to get me to swear, rather than a sincere offer."

Elissa sighed once more. "You once told me that we had the same goals, so trust was moot. I disputed that then, and do so now. Still, such logic should lay your fears to rest. I want a peaceful and well-defended Ferelden. You are a suitable choice for Gwaren. And you may think Gwaren a poor substitute for all of Ferelden, but you know it to better than nothing."

"It… is not a poor substitute," Anora said. 

"Then I will leave you to think about it," Elissa said, raising to leave.

"What does Alistair think of this?" Anora asked. 

Elissa turned back to the erstwhile queen. "He's the one who spared your life, Anora."

+++ +++ +++

"You really want to give Anora her father's teyrnir?" Alistair asked, unsure why he was aghast. This was about the usual for his wife. Wife. Huh. He smiled absently and then remembered he was supposed to be cross.

"You spared her life, Alistair," Elissa said gently. "Once you did that -- unless she renounces her claim to the throne, she will be remain a focus for dissent until she dies."

"You think I shouldn't have?" Alistair asked.

Elissa shook her head. "Not at all. I think your compassion does you credit, and that Anora would make a decent teyrna. It also erodes her as a figurehead for dissenters. Even if she's inclined to encourage them, she will not look nearly so sympathetic."

"But don't you think it's a little soon to start trusting her?"

"No. It looks better if we do it sooner, and if she does it quickly, we will be able to have her renunciation done in front of most of Ferelden's nobility, where they can see her and speak to her and know that she was not forced into anything." 

"I suppose you're right," Alistair admitted. "You know how I said I hate being right?" Elissa nodded. "I hate it when you're right, too." 

Elissa's smile was a little rueful. She glanced around the room -- was it appraisingly? Apprehensively? She could be very hard to read, his love. 

"I, ah. I had them change the bed," he announced. "The whole bed, not just the sheets. New mattress, frame. Everything." It had been a tricky job, too. Alistair had felt a bit bad, watching. The bed had been quite hard to dissemble, having been in place for so long. Someone had at least had the sense to call in a good carpenter, rather than just destroying it. He dreaded to think what the cost would be when the bill arrived.

"Good thinking," she agreed. "It's a little strange, don't you think? Sleeping in a bed that's our own?"

"In socially-approved wedded bliss?" Alistair grinned.

Elissa laughed. "I know! We're such very bad, bad people."

"Shall we see about giving Ferelden a crown prince to coo over to distract everyone?" Alistair put aside his worries on that score. A baby would either come or not; Cailan and Anora had failed to produce a child, and Morrigan, from what Elissa had said, had seemed certain that Alistair still could. For how much longer, it was hard to say. But there was a chance. 

"Mmmh," Elissa murmured, leaning in to kiss him. "Yes. But I'm afraid we have a few more things to discuss first." She took a breath, and ticked off on her fingers: "Vaughan Kendells has to go. Frankly, I think we should hang him. But he'll have to be brought before the seneschal to do that… but he cannot be made arl. He just…" Elissa trailed off, shaking her head.

Alistair nodded. "This is about the alienage, isn't it?"

"It's mostly about the alienage. But it's also about the fact that a man like him only grows bolder in his depravity over time. We'd never be able to trust him."

"Or look ourselves in the eye in a mirror again," Alistair agreed. "Did you find out… more?"

Elissa nodded. "I wanted to make sure I had not read too much into what Soris had said when we freed him. As it happens -- it was even worse than what he said."

Alistair shook his head in disgust. "We'll bring him before the seneschal. Public justice for the Elves -- with the recent slavery scandal, we might just get it." 

"That still leaves the matter of who to appoint as arl," Elissa said.

"Should I assume you have someone in mind already? But we're running out of people who've tried to betray or kill us, to trust with such a task! Has Morrigan returned?" Alistair did not miss his wife's -- wife's! -- half-amused smirk. 

"I was thinking of Teagan, actually," she told him. 

"Teagan has no great love of politics," Alistair pointed out.

"Love of politics is half of what got us into this mess," Elissa pointed out. "I wonder, truly, how much the Blight caused -- and what it just sped up. Eamon and Cailan were quarrelling over putting Anora aside over a year before the Blight began. Do you believe Anora and Loghain were unaware of this?"

Alistair bowed his head, sighing. "I hate politics."

"I know."

"Is that why you went off and just… did everything today?"

"More out of bad habit, I suspect. I feel like I've barely gone two days in the last year without someone asking me to sort something out for them."

"Me included?"

"That was not to your address, Alistair," Elissa was smiling again. "You have always been upfront about --"

"Preferring not to be upfront?" Alistair quipped.

Elissa laughed, a brief burst of light, before turning serious once more. "But if you wish for me to step back, now that you are king --"

"No!" Alistair yelped. "No," he repeated in a more normal voice. "I didn't mean that. I just -- I'd prefer to have the let's-give-Anora-a-teyrnir type conversations before you go off and offer up teyrnirs on silver platters to people we really don't have any reason to trust."

"I'm sorry Alistair. That's more than fair." Elissa looked tired. "Bad habit, as I said." 

"Shall we move on to our other bad habit?" Alistair said, his hinting, as usual, unsubtle.

"Not quite, I'm afraid," Elissa said. "There's still the problem of…" 

"Tell me in the morning," Alistair said. "We have a duty to the kingdom."

Elissa laughed, but leaned forward to kiss him again. "Very well."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The banns talk about getting the band back together, and the Wardens dream...

_Alistair was not unused to dreams featuring himself in his small clothes -- they had plagued him since he was a boy. Occasionally, he had_ nice _dreams featuring himself in his small clothes, including once with Elissa and Leliana doing some very lovely things to each other… but this wasn't that sort of dream either._

_No. He'd have taken another being-mocked-in-my-small-clothes dream over this. Maker's breath, he'd even stopped thinking of those as nightmares._

_Sometimes, like tonight, it was almost as if he… woke up, in the dream. But it never did him any good. It never seemed to change anything. All it seemed to do was insure that he remembered the dream more vividly than strictly necessary._

_This was not a dream he wished to remember._

_The original memory was bad enough._

_He'd woken up, still groggy from the spell Cauthrien's mage had cast on them -- or possibly, a more cynical voice in the back of his mind whispered, whatever Cauthrien's men had done to them after the spell had taken hold… only to hear voices, all too close by._

_"Fresh meat! Good. It's been the same thing every day for so long," one voice said._

_"I want dibs on the pretty one," said a second._

_"Ah, but which one do you think is the pretty one?" The first asked, and they both laughed._

_Dream-Alistair and dreamer-Alistair both shuddered._

_Dreamer-Alistair knew what was coming next. He hadn't told Elissa. "I see the red-head died this morning," the second said, sounding reproachful._

_"What did you expect? It's more surprising he lasted as long as he did," the first said, sounding more philosophical._

_"Gonna miss him, I am," the second said sadly._

_"But the pretty one'll cheer you up, right?"_

_A snide laugh then, and Alistair couldn't tell which it was from, if that even mattered. His eyes drifted down to his lover, laying on the cold floor of their cell. Was she the pretty one? Was he?_

_Which was worse?_

_And wasn't that the worst part?_

_It wasn't that he wasn't aware that torture was bad. Of course he was. But this wasn't the business-like beatings he was expecting. That he had, at least, some hope of withstanding, at least for a time. He knew pain, of old. It wasn't even that it was personal, like the hardships the grand cleric would assign him, in the hope of turning him into something he was not, nor like the humiliations the Arlessa could devise, for being who he was._

_The monstrousness of the darkspawn was more comprehensible. What was it Morrigan's mother had said?_ "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." _That was it. Another point to Morrigan's mother._

_And the truth was, in the dark shadows of his own heart, he wasn't entirely sure he was really brave enough to wish to be left to the mercy of these men, even if it meant sparing his lover._

_His eyes fixed, as they had in reality, on Elissa, lying so still on the floor. Wishing she would wake up. She should have woken up by now, shouldn't she?_

_Was it… cruel to hope she would? Surely it was better to let her sleep, if it could be called sleep?_

_But if she were awake… she'd know what to do, right?_

_And Arl Eamon, Eamon would send someone after them, surely?_

_"Oh, look. One of them's woken up," Alistair heard the voice he thought of as 'the first' say. "Well, better pass the word along, right?"_

_Thankfully, it was the second one who went on this errand. Alistair already dreaded being left alone with him._

_He looked up to see the first voice looking at him through the bars of the cell. Alistair hadn't heard him approach, and his mouth fell open in silent surprise. First apparently took this as a sign Alistair had something to say, and merely grunted, "If you're not bleeding, I don't care."_

_Alistair nodded and quickly looked away. First went back to his rounds._

_Dreamer-Alistair knew that Elissa would wake soon. Dream-Alistair did not, and returned to staring at her, not even knowing what to pray for._

A rough shove woke Alistair. He blinked in the dark.

"You shouted my name," Elissa murmured. "And not in the good, this-is-private way."

"Nightmare," Alistair muttered laconically. This was worse than camp. At least, if they weren't all friends there, they were comrades in arms. Bluster and bad jokes aside, everyone… understood.

Here, things were different. The best he could hope for was that the guards… his soldiers, he reminded himself, would think him indiscreet in his enjoyment of his pretty -- ugh, that was not a good word right now -- his beautiful wife.

"Me too," he heard Elissa say. "Not darkspawn?"

"I almost wish," he told her, truthfully. "Fort Drakon."

"Ugh," he heard her sigh. Or yawn? "Again, me too."

"Rory?" Alistair hazarded. 

Elissa curled closer to him. He felt her nod in the dark before she spoke. "I dreamed of us finding his body. I remembered that we were supposed to burn the body, and I guess -- I set fire to it right there? I think with my mind, like a mage. But we didn't get away in time, and burned too. You were screaming, but I was surprised because it didn't hurt."

Alistair blinked. That was a new twist on that one. "I got the waking up to cold dread in my small clothes one. Of course, I actually _did_ wake up in my small clothes to cold dread, so…"

"I'd suggest lighting a candle, but I'm," Elissa trailed off.

"Feeling a little ambivalent about fire?" Alistair asked lightly. Again, he felt her nod against his chest. "It is dark in here," Alistair acknowledged. Their camp was never this dark. But in the camp, they had the moon overhead, and on even the darkest night, at least a fire going. "Let's open the curtains, shall we?" He got up and pulled the heavy drapes as far apart as they would go, before returning to bed.

They fell back to sleep, eventually, curled around each other more like siblings than lovers.

+++ +++ +++ 

Elissa felt, despite what she'd expected, no satisfaction at seeing Ser Cauthrien behind the bars of a cell in Fort Drakon. Instead she found herself only relieved that Cauthrien was clothed and unharmed. It didn't hurt that her cell appeared at least clean and dry, and contained an actual cot. Small mercies, perhaps, but Elissa knew now, deeply and personally, what small mercies counted for. The torture pit… well, it was still quite plainly a torture pit, tools and tables standing by, but it was cleaned of all its accumulated viscera, and the bodies were gone.

"Good morning," Elissa said, somewhat coldly. She still hadn't forgotten Cauthrien's 'your betters are talking' line, nor her 'remotely worthy of being called Maric's son' as if Alistair's existence was the result of some choice on his own part, and that Maric had somehow gotten swindled. Still, Elissa had managed to avoid showing any reacting when the initial offence had been given; it was best to continue acting as if Cauthrien's words had gone entirely unnoticed. 

"Warden," Ser Cauthrien said, guardedly, though she stood. 

Elissa eyed her warily. She didn't doubt that she could take Cauthrien in a fight, if she had to, but she didn't relish the idea. Elissa let herself into the cell. 

"Have you been appraised of the events since the Landsmeet?" Elissa started.

"My lord lost. But I had assumed that would happen before my arrest," Cauthrien returned.

"You were arrested on the basis of your own actions, Ser Cauthrien," Elissa informed her sternly. "I have the testimony of several men," _at least one of whom is insane, and another whose information was not first-hand_ , "that it was you, personally, who sounded the retreat at Ostagar, and this order was given before the king's forces were overwhelmed."

"That… is true, Warden," Cauthrien confirmed. Well, that at least made things simpler. Elissa noted how the knight's chin rose just a little as she spoke; Elissa judged it defiance rather than pride. 

"In doing so, you caused the deaths of many men at Ostagar, not least that of the king," Elissa pushed forward.

"Yes," Cauthrien acknowledged with a swallow.

"And nearly doomed Ferelden when all but the two most junior Wardens perished in Loghain's trap."

Cauthrien looked as though she wanted to speak, but did not quite dare. Elissa remembered how she, too, had wondered if Grey Wardens were absolutely necessary to defeat the Blight. It was all too easy to imagine that the order was useful, but not exactly essential. 

"If you doubt it, it is only because you are not in possession of all the facts," Elissa told her gravely. "But I cannot speak of the secrets of our order to others."

Cauthrien nodded silently. 

"I offer you a chance to… redeem, I suppose, yourself, by becoming a member of the Grey Wardens."

Cauthrien looked even more surprised than she had when Elissa and Alistair had allowed themselves to be arrested without a fight. "I understood that Alistair was quite vocal when the Wardens made the same offer to my lord."

"Loghain masterminded the destruction of our order within Ferelden and led the nation to the brink of ruin. Alistair could forgive neither." Elissa left out the significance of Loghain's acts against Alistair's father figures, Duncan and Eamon, supposedly carried out in the name of Alistair's actual father. "You are a different matter. You could have done differently than you did. You _should_ have done differently than you did. But you were following orders, and orders given by a man you'd trusted since childhood. Alistair is capable of understanding such devotion." Elissa paused for a moment before continuing. "And… in the end, you stepped aside. You did not attempt to bluff your way through a Landsmeet, nor force a dual when it went against you, demonstrating how little you truly cared for the freedoms of Fereldens."

"It was Loghain who ensured you were born into freedom!" Cauthrien said, eyes flashing.

"No, Cauthrien, it was not," Elissa said. "No more than I alone defeated the Blight. Maric, and my father, and Eamon Guerrin, and Leonas Bryland, and even Rendon Howe stood with him, as did many others. I will not deny that without Loghain, they may not have succeed, but he would even more assuredly have failed without them. It is possible, however, that his belief that he alone had saved Ferelden that led him to believe he alone should choose its course. I do not doubt that he cared about Ferelden." He shed enough blood for it, certainly. "But a man who truly cared about _freedom_ would sell no-one into slavery, Cauthrien, and you know this."

"I… yes. That is true." Cauthrien's gaze had dropped to the floor. 

Cauthrien wasn't Anora, inclined to looking at something from every angle. And while Cauthrien had behaved far more honourably than Anora had, she also had, in a way Anora did not, blood on her hands. "There is no other option, Ser Cauthrien. I do not have some alternate plan for you should you refuse. It is this, or remain in prison, indefinitely."

For a great many reasons, it ought to be "this or death", but Alistair, Knight and Warden, was a bit squeamish about shedding blood, when it came right down to it. Not in battle, of course. But unlike most kings coming to a throne after such upheaval, Alistair would not attempt to cement his rule with a vicious purge. Elissa couldn't blame him; she wouldn't even love him if he were such a man. But Cauthrien was not blameless in Loghain's crimes. Loghain alone could not have done all he had. Many hands had carried out his orders. 

"What of the qu -- what of Anora?" Cauthrien asked. 

"Remains in the tower, for now. She is unharmed." _And she is not getting her father's favourite lieutenant when she returns to Gwaren_. "You are a capable soldier, Cauthrien. It would be a waste, truly, to leave you here. But I will do just that. I almost feel sorry for you," and Cauthrien's gaze snapped to Elissa's at that, "for if you do undertake the Joining, you will finally understand the magnitude of what you have done."

+++ +++ +++ 

Elissa pinched the bridge of her nose. "A seneschal. We have to have a seneschal before we can bring anyone before him."

Alistair nodded agreement. "What about Wynne?"

"Wynne… has problems of her own," Elissa reminded him. "It's one thing to keep her as a mage advisor to the crown. Should her secret get out, well, she is still primarily seen as a mage. It would cause alarm, but not nearly such scandal as if we had appointed her seneschal."

"What we need is a very upright, boring person," Alistair concluded. "Why don't we know any of them?"

Elissa laughed. Alistair smiled. He loved that he could make her laugh. She was so serious all the time. She would make a wonderful seneschal, despite her lack of boringness, he had no doubt. But that was probably too much nepotism or whatever. 

"We could bring it up with the banns today," Elissa said after a moment's consideration. "One of them could have a suggestion, and they can hardly disapprove -- well, more than their usual wont, anyway -- of our choice if it was really theirs to begin with."

It wasn't a full gathering of the banns, though they'd likely have to do that again soon, just the loudest voices. Bryland, Sighard and Alfstanna to thank them for their support. Ceorlic because open opposition is honest opposition, and Ferelden and her banns needed to see that was once again allowed. 

"I can send you someone," Sighard said evenly. 

"You are closest," Alfstanna said, sounding cautious to Alistair's ears. Ah, yes. This was the bannorn of history. Get together to solve a big problem, but be sure to bicker eternally over every small one. 

"What's wrong with seneschal you have now?" Ceorlic asked. 

"We don't have a seneschal now," Elissa said patiently. "Cailan's seneschal died in prison, and Loghain's seneschal is on the list of people to be tried."

"What about Oswyn?" Bryland asked. It took Alistair a moment to realise that Bryland wasn't changing the subject. "He's here and he's hardly in a state to be moved. And his loyalty cannot be in question."

"I had hoped to bring Oswyn home, soon," Sighard said quietly. 

"It's hardly a suitable position for the heir to a bannorn," Ceorlic added.

_Well if_ that's _your only objection_ , Alistair thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. _Rather than, say, that he might do whatever we tell him because he owes us his life._

"It's likely to be a temporary posting anyway," Bryland said. "No-one taking it will not be expecting to be replaced eventually."

Alistair felt his brow furrow, and tried to smooth it. "We weren't -- that's to say Elissa and I didn't intend it to be a temporary post."

"Bryland's right," Sighard said. "The chances are good that eventually you would find someone who suited you better than whoever we picked. In any case, I think it should be clear that I hope Oswyn, should you take him, is on loan."

Elissa was nodding, probably on reflex. Alistair rubbed his brow. He had no objections, even though the young man he met could hardly be described as boring.

"Why is Eamon not here?" Ceorlic asked. "I would have thought that he'd be happy to lend you any staff you might need."

"Aside from the fact that Redcliffe, like much of the rest of south, is hardly in a position to send more men north, I would have thought you'd prefer the chance to say, talk about him behind his back?" Elissa didn't look surprised, beyond a slight widening of the eyes, but then she had a remarkable face for card games. Alfstanna looked uncomfortable, Bryland bored, Sighard faintly impressed. "I am not unaware that there are those who wonder if Eamon intends to do with me much as Loghain did with Anora." Alistair paused, but no one interrupted. It was odd, having people suddenly listening to him. "He's a good man, and I respect him a great deal, and I have no doubt that I will continue to find his advice useful, but his is not the only voice I will listen to." 

Ceorlic harrumphed. 

"That is wise, Alistair," Sighard said. "And I say that not just because you have included _me_ in this meeting. It is reassuring both to see that you understand the role the banns play in Ferelden, and to see such evidence that you do not intend to be any man's, no matter how great, puppet. Not that Cailan or Maric were puppets, but on reflection, they did rather cater to Loghain's sense of self importance."

"Loghain's importance to Ferelden could hardly be overstated," Ceorlic began.

"I think, perhaps, we should move on," Elissa broke in. "No amount of debating the past will change it."

"Yes, the future is vastly more pressing," Bryland agreed dryly.

"What of Anora?" Ceorlic began. 

Alistair saw Alfstanna frown. Anora had been well-liked, and her defence of her father at the Landsmeet had seemed, given the weight of evidence pressing against him, little short of insane. "We have offered to allow her to return to Gwaren as its teyrna, if she renounces her claim on the throne for herself and her heirs, swears fealty, et cetera. We expect her to accept. Beyond that... well, I think I have little choice but to leave her where she is."

"That is rather generous of you," Alfstanna said. 

"Not really," Alistair said. "I believe I am in fact only copying Calenhad's example." The banns blinked. _Ha. Not a total fool, am I?_

"I suppose that's true," Sighard agreed.

"Rather fitting," Ceorlic mused. "About Anora, I mean."

There was a pause where no-one spoke. Elissa asked, "Are there any other questions any of you wish to raise? Anything one of the other banns wished you to raise?"

"You know we cannot stay in Denerim much longer," Bryland began after a beat. "Much of the bannorn is in disarray, either through the Blight or the war. I expect banns to start leaving no later than the day after tomorrow. If you want to speak to the Landsmeet assembled again before next year, you should announce it soon."

That was delicately avoiding mention of those who, like Wulff, had not returned for the coronation. Alistair nodded. 

"Is Oswyn well enough to come to the palace?" Elissa asked.

Sighard sighed heavily but only said, "Yes. Shall I send him immediately?" 

Alistair spoke, "If you would."

The meeting broke up. Alistair felt a weight lift off him as the banns filed out of the room. 

"You know, I already hate being king?" Alistair asked rhetorically. Elissa smiled sympathetically. "What's the schedule for the rest of today?"

"Nothing, actually, until Oswyn gets here. Once we speak to him, and decide if we can confirm him as seneschal --"

"Yes, he did seem an odd choice, didn't he? And I really couldn't tell if Bryland was trying to do us a favour, Sighard a favour, or was up to something… political."

Elissa shook her head. Clearly she didn't know either. "Assuming we take him on, I suppose we can announce that we will be holding trials, oh, let's say, the day after tomorrow?"

"Before everyone buggers off? Yes. I suppose. Hopefully we can confirm Anora and Teagan at the same time." Alistair rubbed his eyebrow. "What's tomorrow?"

"Cauthrien."

+++ +++ +++ 

Oswyn rubbed his leg, not sure if he was soothing the pain or distracting himself with a different sensation. The carriage was nearing the estate, and he would have to get out soon, and by the Maker, he would walk into it, no matter how it hurt. The journey to and from the palace had not been smooth, and the walk through it, long. The guards his father saw fit to assign him had hovered, and no doubt would hover more when they noticed that he had begun to limp again.

But the carriage had barely pulled up outside Bryland's door when the man himself emerged from his estate. Oswyn did not bother to wait for a footman, and popped the carriage door himself. 

"I would invite you in," Bryland gestured, offhandedly, "but Habren is having the most spectacular tantrum. Better that I join you."

Oswyn moved back from the door and Bryland clamour unceremoniously aboard, shutting the door while seating himself. 

"What," Oswyn began, sounding peeved even to his own ears, "are you up to, ser?"

"Is this about your new post in the capital?" Bryland returned evenly.

"What else would it be about?" Oswyn asked suspiciously. It wasn't like Bryland had a reputation in the Landsmeet as an oblique plotter. 

Bryland shrugged. "Your father offered to send someone for the post of seneschal. You are already here -- much better than waiting for someone to arrive from Dragon's Peak. Half the banns would be gone by the time they arrived. And you will get some practice at dispensing justice. It is not like it will not be useful to you."

"There's an enormous difference between Dragon's Peak and the Crown court!" Oswyn exclaimed. "And I'm hardly a scholar."

"But well read," Bryland said.

Oswyn's eyes narrowed. "What's this really about, ser?"

Bryland made an open-palm gesture Oswyn couldn't begin to read. "You are a man, Oswyn. You survived Howe's torture chambers, and you walked out of them, alone, despite all the damage that had been done to you. But your father -- is your father. He frets. He wishes to undo all that has been done to you, and forgets that it will make you stronger."

"But why should _you_ care?" Oswyn was perplexed.

"Why should I not?" Bryland shrugged once more. "We have need of men in these times. You cannot go back to being a boy, no matter how much you or your father might wish." Bryland rose. "I should get back to Habren. Would that I could foist _her_ on the new king."

+++ +++ +++ 

_Elissa watched as Daveth fell to his knees, eyes open and unseeing, entirely white; his hand reached for his throat, as though he were choking, and he seized, before lying still on the cold stone floor of the old temple. Blood drained from his mouth._

_"Step forward Jory," Duncan said, but as Ser Jory grasped the cup, Duncan drew a dagger, and with a single, quick, sure move, he cut the knight's throat. Alistair caught the cup before it could fall, and held it beneath the flow of blood. Duncan held the dead man in place by his thinning hair, until the cup flowed over._

_"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," Duncan said to her, loosing Jory's body to drop beside Daveth's._

_Alistair passed her the cup, and she drank from it. It fell from her hands, however, as she too began to choke… and joined the cup, and the bodies of the other fallen, on the ground._

Elissa awoke, dragging a deep lungful of oxygen as she did so. It took her a moment to orient herself, in their strange new room, Alistair slumbering peacefully bedside her. Alistair had warned her that some Wardens never shook their terrible dreams, but even he had never been able to say if her twisted nightmares were to do with the taint, or were the product of her mind alone. 

She rose from the bed quietly, and walked to the window. They'd left the drapes open tonight before retiring. It helped only a little. Through it, she could see the first faint traces of colour at the edge of the horizon. A new day dawned. She already knew it would be a long one.

She turned back to her bed, to get what sleep she might in preparation, but she did not drift off easily. When she did finally dose, sunlight had already reached her window, and the sounds of early-morning life could be heard from within and without, and Alistair, long trained to such things, began to stir beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you there, reader? It's me, Casandra.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying. Many thanks to those who've already left feedback, but I also wanted to mention that comments and concrit are always welcome, and I am especially partial to wild theories about it's all heading! So if you have one, absolutely leave a comment telling me all about it.
> 
> All comments will be answered, unless I get really famous and can no longer handle the volume of fanmail :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences... and a clue.
> 
> With an appearance from everyone's favorite bann, Teagan.

When Elissa arrived at Fort Drakon, Ser Cauthrien was waiting for her just inside the entrance, already dressed in armour. An awed soldier stood nearby, holding her sword, ostensibly to keep it from her until she was released, but its success as a security measure relied heavily on the fact that Cauthrien had not tried to get the sword from him.

"Thank you," Elissa said to the soldier. "I will take responsibility for the recruit from here." The soldier passed the sword to Elissa, and Elissa kept the smile from her face. The poor boy was evidentially unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be doing, and was probably assigned this duty only because his superiors had no interest in being made to feel the same way. As she took the sword, he remained standing there, stock-still. "Thank you," Elissa repeated. "You are dismissed."

The soldier startled at that, and then walked off, still looking somewhat dazed. 

Once he left, Elissa turned to Cauthrien. She knew so little about the order she was about to induct Cauthrien into. So she spoke as Alistair had, in case it was important. "As the junior member of our order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining."

"The junior member? You're the Commander of the Grey!" Cauthrien replied. 

"Yes. Of Ferelden. Which is an order that at present consists, Cauthrien, of two people, one of whom is the king." Cauthrien fell silent at this. Elissa passed Cauthrien her sword. "Come on, let's get a move on."

Cauthrien took the sword, and asked carefully, "What are we doing?"

"We have to go find some darkspawn and kill them."

"Is this to prove you can face them? I have killed darkspawn before," Cauthrien said, settling her sword on her back.

 _I don't suppose you kept a vial of the blood, secreted perhaps somewhere about your person?_ But all Elissa said was, "It's not solely to prove you can face them." It wasn't like it would have worked, anyway, even if Cauthrien had. It needed to be fresh. 

They camped that night somewhere south of Denerim. 

"Is it going to be hard, finding darkspawn?" Cauthrien asked.

"Yes and no," Elissa said. "There are, fortunately, far fewer of them about now that the blight is quelled, but all Grey Wardens can sense them." _And, worse, are drawn to them._ "We should be back in the capital no later than tomorrow evening, I think." 

Cauthrien nodded. 

"We can rest for a few hours, but then we should get moving again."

"Should we not keep watch?" Cauthrien asked.

"Cauthrien, there are two of us, and we can only afford to sleep for a short time. And frankly, you are likely the most dangerous thing to me here, so there is no particular advantage to me to sleep while you keep watch." 

"I would not slay you while you slept," Cauthrien answered reproachfully.

"And I am certain that is the case, which is why I will be going to sleep. I am merely pointing out that as risks go, failing to set a watch is fairly minor."

Cauthrien looked troubled. Of course, she probably had spent about half her life sleeping under a set watch, so this was as unfamiliar to her as it could possibly be. 

"Sleep, Cauthrien. I am a remarkably light sleeper." She had been, since that night in Highever. Had she but woken earlier... "Unless you actually intend to die at the hands of darkspawn tomorrow."

_It had come for her, finally, the Calling. She had travelled to Orzammar, where she was welcomed, solemnly. Many of the faces had changed, but Orzammar, built out of the stone itself, remained unchanging in a way that surface cities could not._

_She walked the deep roads, as she had once so long ago. She headed for Bownammar, City of Dead, both because of its fittingness, and because, somehow, she'd always held a soft spot for Caridin_. Atrast nal tunsha _… She hoped his benediction stayed with her so long._

_She waded through vast hordes of darkspawn as she did, so many hurlocks. She was insensate to the pain of their blades upon her, and she killed them all._

_She was dying, though, she was almost certain. It felt… very strange. But she kept moving, deeper into the deep roads, until at last she could feel the place of her death approaching._

_She crouched, to ease the pain in her hips, but rose quickly, eager to push on._

_And at last she came to it, and finally, the true horror of the Calling dawned. A broodmother pulsed before her, reacting hardly at all to Elissa's entry to her lair. The changed face still bore a faint resemblance to Cauthrien, who had fled so long ago… Elissa's sword clattered to the floor, but she picked it up, hacking away at the monster who wore the face of a woman she'd once known, until at last the broodmother was dead._

_Elissa fell to the floor in exhaustion, but her hand still gripped her dagger. She slid it beneath her tightening armour, and plunged it deep into her guts._

_She closed her eyes._

Elissa was sitting upright ever before she opened her eyes. She made it to the edge of camp before she lost the contents of her stomach. Silver sword, she hoped that was impossible…

Cauthrien was either also a light sleeper, or had not yet fallen asleep, for she was at Elissa's side in a moment, pulling Elissa's hair behind her head. It was not nearly as much comfort as it might have been.

+++ +++ +++ 

Oswyn tried to feel something -- empathy, pity -- for the man before him, but all he felt was revulsion. Still, he wondered if he ought to feel some kinship with this man; Vaughan Kendells had shared the same part of the dungeon with him, where Howe, it seemed, had deigned to house his noble prisoners. But Kendells hadn't been badly mistreated. Well, Oswyn didn't know what Kendells went through before Oswyn himself arrived, but beyond being stuck in a cage, nothing terrible had happened to him that Oswyn saw.

Irminric, on the other hand, Howe had tormented for reasons that escaped Oswyn. The poor man had been delirious the entire time Oswyn had been in the dungeons. Oswyn had worked out enough of what the templar had gone on about to understand why he was imprisoned. Torturing him had surely been unnecessary?

But then, what purpose had there been in torturing Oswyn? Oswyn genuinely didn't know what they wanted him to tell them, and really, that should surely have been obvious. How many men, truly, could have held their tongue for so long? He'd never found his friend, but the torture, at least, gave him hope that neither had Loghain. 

But Kendells had been largely left alone, despite his penchant for periodically railing at the guards and blustering at Howe. Howe had even seemed almost amused at Kendells; that alone would have turned Oswyn's blood to ice, but he sometimes wondered if Kendells had been even more touched than Irminric. 

"There are no further witnesses to be called, your Majesty," Oswyn told Alistair formally, though he knew Alistair was already aware of it. It had been Alistair who had arranged for the witnesses to be brought to the palace. Oswyn watched as Shianni stepped back amidst her kin. He could not help but admire her. He'd seen how she'd trembled as they'd waited for everyone to convene, for the trial to begin. But once it had… she'd shown none of the fear she must have felt. And she spared none of them the details of what Kendells had done to her and her friends. 

"Thank you, Seneschal," Alistair said. Alistair strode forward, the king's armour glinting as light streamed through the high-up windows. He looked convincing in his new role. Oswyn hoped he would settle into his own as quickly. He also wished it was customary to sit at such events, but you couldn't have everything. At least they were probably almost done. 

Alistair continued, his voice ringing solidly throughout the chamber. "Are there any here who wish to speak on behalf of Vaughan Kendells?"

There was silence, for a moment. 

Finally, Bann Ceorlic stepped forward and spoke. "No-one here who remembers the Chevaliers would condone this behaviour, Alistair. Ferelden's lords have no _droit de seigneur_." 

"And those who wish they did should be castrated," the aging Bann Reginalda said in reply to this.

"Fortunately for you," Alistair said, addressing Kendells, "that is also not done in Ferelden." Alistair turned back, addressing the room. "Let it henceforth be known that Vaughan Kendells, once heir to the Arling of Denerim, is stripped of all his lands and titles. Further, on the morrow, he is to be hanged from the neck until dead."

"You bastard, you can't," Kendells blustered. Oswyn supposed he had nothing left to lose. 

"I am, and I can," Alistair said. "Oh, yes. And I will," he added after a beat. "Guards, take him away."

Once the guards had dragged Kendells, still struggling, out of the room, Alistair raised his hand once more. "Now that that is dispensed with…" There was a small pause as Alistair seemed to gather his thoughts. "With respect to his service to Ferelden, particularly the Arlings of Redcliffe and Denerim, the aid he gave in protecting his brother, without whom our land might yet be in turmoil, and for speaking out, first of all the banns, against Loghain's treachery at Ostagar, Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainsfere, is hereby granted the Arling of Denerim." 

Much applause broke out at this. Oswyn noted his father's hands among them. 

"May you hold it in peace, good ser," Alistair added softly, though his voice carried. 

Teagan nodded formally. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, sounding a little choked, more at the words, Oswyn suspected, than the grant. 

"Further, investigations into the acts of Rendon Howe have cleared his son Thomas. That being the case, I hereby confirm Thomas Howe as the Arl of Amaranthine."

There was silence to this. A little vengeance was the norm in these times. Alistair's beneficence seemed to be throwing people. Oswyn smiled at his friend, though Thomas was still looking at the king. 

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Thomas said quietly.

"Hold it in honour," Alistair told him, and Thomas nodded. "When last the Landsmeet convened," Alistair said, raising his voice, "it was to settle the matter of the throne, and end the civil war. It served its purpose… but it could have ended better." Oswyn heard a few errant gasps of surprise at this, "and for that I call forward my brother's wife, the dowager queen Anora." 

The gasps of surprise now were louder and more numerous. Anora stepped forward.

Alistair addressed her directly. "At the Landsmeet, and afterwards, tempers were high. I had you -- locked in a tower. I think perhaps I should not have done that."

"And I think," Anora said with good humour, "that I should not have suggested that I would have had you killed."

When Alistair laughed, a few titters and smiles broke out in the chamber. "Arl Eamon asked you then to renounce your claim to the throne, but on reflection it was just as well that you did not. I could easily have died attempting to end the Blight. And while the Landsmeet ruled that my claim to the throne was the better, you were right: your own was not inconsiderable. Now, in this time of peace, I ask that for the sake of the stability of our kingdom, that you make that oath now."

Utter silence had fallen in the chamber. 

Anora's voice rang out clear in the silence. "I hereby renounce my claim to the throne of Ferelden, for myself and my heirs, and pledge my oath of fealty to you, Alistair, this I swear."

"Thank you, Anora," Alistair said, very quietly, before raising his voice once more. "I hereby confirm Anora the Teyrna of Gwaren. Hold it in all good fortune."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, and her voice was oddly soft. 

The assembly broke up shortly after that, and Oswyn made his way to his office, where he could finally sit.

+++ +++ +++ 

Elissa paused at the door to the roof of Fort Drakon. Alistair waited there for them, the only place in this city that seemed right to carry out the ritual. With him was the Joining cup they'd retrieved from Ostagar, full of whatever that foul mix of lyrium and blood could be called.

She turned to Cauthrien at her side. "This is your last chance. If you choose to walk through these doors, there is no turning back."

Cauthrien seemed to hesitate, her lips parted as if about to speak, but she shook her head. 

Elissa heard Cauthrien's intake of breath, but then Cauthrien pushed the door open, regardless of what questions she wished to ask, or apprehension she felt. Elissa followed behind her. 

She met Alistair's eyes where he stood, not far from where the archdemon had fallen, and Riordan had perished. The cup stood beside him, resting on a piece of untrampled stonework. He looked pale, but resolved, and he nodded as she approached.

"At last we come to the Joining," Alistair said, and Elissa was unsure if it was ritual, or because he, like she, did not truly know what they should be doing. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint." 

Elissa's eyes slid to take in Cauthrien's reaction. "So that was why we had to find darkspawn. I have to drink the blood --?" Cauthrien's brows had all but hit her hairline. 

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory," Alistair said, echoing Duncan's words perfectly, Elissa thought. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Elissa, if you would?"

Elissa bowed her head. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows, where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Cauthrien spoke, "'Should you perish?'"

"'Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed,'" Elissa said, remembering Duncan's own words to her. 

Cauthrien was silent.

Elissa stepped toward the cup. Alistair had appointed her his Warden-Commander, and she would do her duty. "You are call upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," Elissa told her, and held forth the cup. 

Cauthrien stepped up, and took it, and raised it to her mouth. As she handed it back, her eyes flashed that dreadful white, but she did not fall immediately. Alistair nodded to Elissa. So Cauthrien would survive. She remembered hearing Duncan's voice before the dreams took her. "From this moment, you are a Grey Warden."

They waited with Cauthrien as she dreamed, and finally, she stirred. "The pain," Cauthrien said.

"That's what I said," Alistair admitted. 

Elissa couldn't even remember what she'd said, remembering only how Duncan and Alistair's faces had swum into focus against the now-night sky. 

"Did you dream?" Alistair asked her.

"Ugh, yes. Is the blood mind-affecting?" She coughed.

"Not in the sense you probably mean," Alistair told her frankly. "The dreams are real." 

Cauthrien looked at Elissa with new dismay, and Elissa realised what Cauthrien was thinking of. "The dreams are part of our ability to sense the darkspawn," Alistair continued. "They are even more important during a Blight, and some of the older Wardens grow to understand the archdemon when it -- talks, for lack of a better word, to the horde. Most Grey Wardens learn to block out the dreams quickly enough."

"But some don't," Cauthrien added flatly.

Alistair was looking at Cauthrien strangely now. Elissa spoke up, "That was a spectacularly bad dream," she told Cauthrien, before turning to Alistair and adding quietly, "I lost my supper by the side of the road."

Alistair blinked at this. "That's never happened before. Has it?" Elissa shook her head. "Few Grey Wardens have them as bad as Elissa's," Alistair told Cauthrien, avoiding discussing that neither of them were even certain that these were Grey Warden dreams, rather than Grey Warden themed dreams. "I've never heard of anyone throwing up before," he said. After a moment's reflection he added, "Waking up shrieking like a little girl, on the other hand, is pretty common."

Later, as Elissa made sure Cauthrien made it to her new quarters on less-than-steady legs, Cauthrien said, "Will you come in?"

Curious, Elissa did so. 

"You told me that if I undertook the Joining I would understand what I had done to the Wardens. I must confess, I do not."

 _Not just to the Wardens, Cauthrien._ "Sit," Elissa told her. Cauthrien sat, still looking pale. "Any sufficiently skilled warrior can kill darkspawn. You know this."

Cauthrien nodded. 

"But only a Grey Warden can kill the archdemon. The archdemon is almost immortal; in fact, before the first Grey Wardens discovered the secret, it was effectively immortal, and this is why the first Blight went on so very long. Because you see, once the archdemon was seemingly slain, its soul would merely seek out the nearest darkspawn, and be reborn in that body. But we share the taint with those we hunt, and when one of our number slays the archdemon, it is into this body that the soul of the archdemon passes. And because, unlike the darkspawn, we are not ourselves soulless, the archdemon is destroyed… along with the Grey Warden who kills it." 

"And a Blight is only ended when the archdemon is destroyed," Cauthrien murmured.

"Yes," Elissa confirmed bluntly. 

Cauthrien nodded. No, Elissa did not envy Cauthrien her thoughts. But Cauthrien shook herself, and asked, "Is there anything else I should know?"

Elissa didn't bother to tell her that both she and Alistair were stuck wondering the same thing. "Your life will likely be short. Maybe thirty years from now at most. Eventually, the corruption of the taint will overtake you, and you will venture to the deep roads to fight the darkspawn there until you are overwhelmed. When we say that it is 'the duty that cannot be forsworn', it is not because it is a compelling turn of phrase: should you forsake your vows, you would still eventually find yourself in the deep roads or blighted lands. You may never have children… those with the taint almost never do." Elissa paused for breath. "Beyond that…" she trailed off and thought. "Riordan… the man who made the final sacrifice, once told me, 'Be firm in your beliefs, protect people from their own ignorance, and be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing that you'll share their deaths.' That about sums it up, I think." 

Elissa had forgotten something, in fact, but it came to her before she turned away. "There is one last part to your joining," she said, and from a pouch Elissa drew the amulet Alistair had made for Cauthrien while she dreamed. "We take some of the blood, and put it in a pendent, to remind us of those didn't make it this far." 

For Elissa, that had meant those who, like Daveth and Jory, had not survived the Joining. But now she could see how it could have a different meaning. How 'those didn't make it this far' could mean, 'those who hadn't survived to be here with us now'. Riordan, who had not lived to see the celebrations his sacrifice had brought. Duncan… and all the others who had died at Ostagar, whose names Elissa did not even know. 

Elissa didn't often feel awkward, but looking at the now-silent Cauthrien, she did. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, sister," she said finally, and let herself out.

+++ +++ +++ 

They ate breakfast the following morning with Teagan, who had invited them, with only the faintest trace of irony, to dine at his estate.

"The whole city is a mess," Teagan said, putting his cup down. "Of course, most of the country is a mess, but the battle here did so much structural damage." He sighed. "The city has enough funds to make a start, I believe, but it is not likely to be enough. The market district is flattened."

Alistair shuddered. He knew. He'd seen what was left of his sister's house, and could only pray she and her children had gotten out of the city before the horde arrived. They had, but at the time… and he'd had to press on without looking back.

"And the condition of the alienage… and it may be worse because most of that was before the darkspawn arrived, and many people barely consider Elves fellow citizens on good days." Teagan reached up to rub his brow. "They'll resent any money -- Blight money is how they'll think of it -- spent on the alienage before the rest of the city is repaired. I would borrow money from Rainsfere but Maker knows the south was hit far harder. Eamon's pressed just as hard -- worse, in a way, because so much of the damage done to Redcliffe was done by his son, and Redcliffe was fortunate to have you defend it… so he's already sharing as generously as he can with his fellow banns in the south." Teagan took another swig from his mug. "I don't suppose the crown could release some funds?"

"Yes," Alistair said decisively. "I plan to. With whatever is left, of course."

"The state of the crown finances must be terrible indeed," Teagan acknowledged, "for Loghain to turn to Tevinter slavers for gold."

"And unfortunately," Alistair added, "I can't focus exclusively on Denerim. So much of the country was hit harder." Naturally, people in Denerim, like people everywhere else, tended to focus on what they could see. "I did however have a few ideas. I was thinking of approaching the Chantry for money… admittedly, some of the money will probably ultimately be coming from Orlais, but as we stopped the Blight before it hopped borders," and Alistair wasn't quite sure why Elissa smiled at this phrase, "I'd say our chances of getting a donation for rebuilding 'the Birthplace of Andraste' are quite good." 

"You are king now Alistair, and it's a good plan," Teagan began. "But as I recall, the Grand Cleric does not have the best opinion of you."

"That is true," Alistair said amiably. "Which is why I plan to send the queen instead. They love her in the Chantry here." Alistair smiled at his wife across the table. "You should hear the lovely things Chanter Rosamund says whenever she walks by. 'And after much sweat, blood, and toil, her labours ended. And the world marvelled at what she wrought'. Of course, if I could remember which canticle that was from, the Grand Cleric would probably like me better."

"About the alienage," Teagan said, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand, "there was another matter I wished to bring to your attention."

That didn't sound good, but Alistair merely said, "Oh?"

"I would like to issue a blanket pardon on all those who participated in the Elven uprising -- on the Elven side, of course."

"Can't you do that?" Alistair asked, brow furrowing. 

"If only Kendells and Howe had been involved in, yes. But Loghain was involved too, though later and to a lesser degree. Even so, he was regent at the time, and I can't overrule the crown."

"Ah. Yes, of course I'll give you whatever you need for that. I just wish we could do more. Not just for the Elves," Alistair added after a moment. "For the whole country."

"You could press on some of the northern banns," Teagan said, "to ease the strain."

"There are refugees as far north as the Waking Sea," Alistair said. 

"Speaking of Howe," Elissa said with only a faint twist to her mouth, "and the north, I believe Highever is relatively untouched. I spoke to my brother before he returned home, and he has promised to aid us if he can. Unfortunately, we all know that Howe was a thief… so it's possible that there will be in fact little left in the treasury when he arrives. Amaranthine is likewise untouched, and Thomas, I think, can be persuaded to give generously."

"The more I think on it," Teagan said, "the less I understand Loghain's trust of Howe. Gwaren is in as bad shape as the rest of the south, from the Blight of course, and then on top of that, Loghain drained its coffers so badly in support of his pretendership. And yet there is evidence that Howe was pilfering city funds."

"Could he do that?" Alistair asked. "I don't mean morally, obviously that's wrong. But legally, as the arl, couldn't he do whatever he liked with the funds?"

"Only up to a point. I am Bann of Rainsfere and Arl of Denerim. The funds of both are mine to administer. But I hold each of those titles separately. I might levy taxes on Denerim to build myself an extravagant new hall here and get away with it, but I cannot levy taxes on Rainsfere for a hall in Denerim and expect the same. The people of Rainsfere would quite rightly riot." Alistair blinked at Teagan's calm words. "They are vassals, Alistair, not slaves. The banns protect their people, or what else are liege-lords for? Surely you know this?"

"Yes. But surely if they rioted you'd have to put it down?"

"If I were the sort of man who'd carry out the idiotic plan I described above, yes, I'm sure I'd also be the sort of man who'd violently put down the rioting afterwards. But let's not borrow trouble Alistair. There is likely to be some rioting in the aftermath of this -- and it will have to be put down, one way or another -- people are not always rational and even the most careful handling of the reconstruction is likely to cause widespread discontent."

Alistair glanced at Elissa, and she nodded her agreement. "Ugh," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that was a grumpy note to end on, but I do write several chapters in advance, and so I'm wondering: How are we feeling about romance? When sex scenes come up, would you, dear reader, prefer tasteful fade-to-black (like the end of chapter 1) or something more erotic?
> 
> Initially I felt that the fade-to-black worked better, but I know I think it might have been a missed opportunity. If you have feelings either way, please let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some old faces make a re-appearance.

"My sister is arriving today, isn't she," Alistair said, as they returned to the palace.

Elissa had forgotten, but left her displeasure at the reminder off her face. Goldanna had been aptly named, and after the discussion with Teagan, Elissa was even less pleased about having to deal with the woman, and her attitude that _noblesse oblige_ meant the exact opposite of what it was supposed to. But Alistair, if he didn't exactly like his sister, wanted to. So Elissa simply said, "Yes, I believe you're right."

"You know, I'd just planned on handing over money for her to get set up again, but I can't, exactly, can I?" Alistair asked, sounding dismayed. "I mean, not after what Teagan said. It's like… robbing people. We don't do that. Right?"

Well, they'd looted a few corpses, it was true, but the last year had given Elissa a new appreciation for the word 'desperate'. "No. But she is right. She is your sister, and you do have some responsibilities to her."

"Because I voluntarily sought her out," Alistair added flatly.

"Do you regret it?" Elissa asked, curious.

"No," Alistair told her firmly. "Just how it turned out. I mean, it's hard to blame her. I grew up wishing to be away from the arlessa and the Chantry, and thinking maybe someday we'd get to be together and I'd have a real family. Should I really be upset that she assumed my life was the bed of roses I assumed hers was?" He paused and shook his head. "But what do I do? I mean, we barely have two bits left to rub together ourselves. If you're talking about what's actually ours."

"We could," and Elissa hated herself a little bit for making this suggestion. She knew Alistair would grab it with both hands, and that he would be right to… but she still wished it wasn't necessary. It would be unkind to say that Goldanna was a shrew, given everything, but she was bad for Alistair's equanimity, which was likely to be tested enough in days to come. 

Alistair was all ready looking hopeful. 

"We could put her and her children up in the palace. It's not like there isn't plenty of room, and she is your sister. And it won't cost much." 

"Won't cost much?" Alistair's brow wrinkled. "Surely it won't cost anything?"

This was not Alistair's area of expertise, after all. "Well, we'll have to feed her won't we? And servants will clean up after her and her children… there will be other costs, too. The children will need clothes, a tutor ideally." 

"Maker's breath," Alistair sighed, more from lack of anything better to say, Elissa thought.

But when they entered, they found Goldanna had all ready arrived. Leliana sat on the floor of the great hall, face solemn and eyes sparkling, a half-circle of children around her, while their mother and Wynne conversed quietly to one side. 

Elissa heard Alistair, next to her, sigh. 

But he strode forward. "Goldanna," he said, as if easily, "It is good to see you… I hope well?" 

That could have been a better opening, but then, it probably was wise to assume things had somehow gone wrong in the interim. Things usually did. But Goldanna nodded guardedly, and Elissa noted that she and the children were all clean and healthy-looking. 

"Your soldiers brought me here," she said, as if they were somehow unaware of this.

"Ye-es," Alistair said, drawing out the word a little worriedly. 

"Nobody else is returning. Soldiers said the city's not in a fit state to be seen," she told him frankly.

"The market district was badly hit," Alistair told her honestly. "I am sorry about your house --"

"Sorry!" She exclaimed, and Elissa couldn't help but feel bad for her. All of a sudden, she understood. Goldanna had come here, expecting to be shoved back out the door with a little bit of coin to help her get back on her feet, and out from under Alistair's. And she probably thought she'd near have to beg for even that. And she'd do it, if only for the children's sake, but her pride rightly burned at the thought.

"Goldanna," Wynne began in that soothing tone she had, "it might be best to let Alistair finish."

"Yes," Alistair said ironically, "just in case I'm not about to screw you over like you think." Wynne looked a bit taken aback by Alistair's resort to crudeness, but if anything, Goldanna looked reassured. "What I was about to say is that I am sorry about your house, and I know you don't want to hear this," he raised his hand as she opened her mouth, and for both of them it was probably on reflex. "But there isn't much I can do about it yet. The market district will be repaired but that'll all be done in one go, I imagine. Everyone who lost houses will have to be accommodated elsewhere in the meantime. But in your case, I was hoping you and your children would come stay here. With me. In the castle."

"Oh," Goldanna said, blinking, but it only took a moment for her eyes to narrow in suspicion.

Alistair had apparently guessed where her train of thought had led. "In the castle. Not the stables, or whatever."

"Oh," Goldanna repeated faintly.

The two stared at each other, apparently having run out of conversation.

"Why don't you introduce yourself to the children, Alistair," Wynne suggested kindly. "They seemed very excited to meet you."

One of the boys, in particular, was staring quite intently at the adults hovering around his mother, Elissa noted. 

"Yes!" Alistair said, grasping this idea with both hands, "Leliana," he called over. "Could you bring the children here?"

She looked up and nodded, before turning back to the children, and leaning forward conspiratorially. A few more secret words, and they rose en masse. 

Two solemn, one excited and one curious face took her in at a glance before turning to peer up at Alistair. 

"This is Cormac, my eldest," Goldanna said, clutching the shoulder of the brown-haired boy, as though suddenly having second thoughts. "Niav, my next," she said, indicating the girl with long red plaits. She was taller than her brother, Elissa noted. Niav held the hand of her sister, who turned out to be called Sian. Gavin was the name of the youngest, his hair still the white-blond of one barely out of his babyhood. 

"And I'm your Uncle Alistair!" Alistair announced with a sort of desperate joviality. Sian smiled widely at this and Gavin giggled, but the elder two continued staring, plainly over awed. "And this is Aunt Elissa," he continued, "and we both hope you'll be very happy here."

"Why don't I show the children to their rooms," Leliana offered.

Alistair's face barely changed, but Elissa could read the panic gathering around his eyes.

Wynne spoke up. "Oswyn suggested an ambassadorial suite for your sister. Before the occupation it was probably used for the crown prince and his family… three bedrooms and its own sitting room." Wynne turned to Goldanna. "There are other rooms of course, but no larger suites. It would give you a place all your own."

"My room is smaller than that!" Alistair said, perhaps in address to the apologetic tone in which Wynne had spoken. "I only have one room. Which I have to share with her," he said, indicating Elissa.

Gavin giggled. 

Wynne pressed her lips together, though Elissa wasn't sure if it was in amusement or lack thereof. "You have an entire palace, Alistair," Wynne told him patiently. 

Goldanna, at least, looked mollified. "Like having my own apartment," she said. "But here at the palace."

"Yes," Elissa said. 

Alistair took himself off with the children to go see this room, but Goldanna stayed where she was, as though rooted to the spot. Wynne stood by, with a sympathetic glance toward Goldanna.

"What will I do?" Goldanna asked Elissa finally. "You'll tell it to me straight, right. I can see he thinks it's all somehow going to be fine, but I know life's not like that."

"No, you're right," Elissa said. "It isn't. We have a roof over our heads, Goldanna, but if you think this city has any coin to spare…" this wasn't Goldanna's problem, and Elissa knew it. "I know it sounds stupid, that you're living in a castle and there's no money to be had, but that's the truth of it. Everything we have has to go on rebuilding Ferelden. We can't just… spend it on ourselves. I know you look at us, and think gleaming armour is a sign of wealth. And normally, you might be right. What it's a sign of, in this case however, is that we're risking our lives on a daily basis. Or were, anyway. At present, it's also to do with the fact that we don't actually have a single presentable stitch to wear." 

Goldanna stared. Elissa would grant that this was a lot to take in.

"But you'll be fed, Goldanna. As long as we are, anyway. And we'll see about the other things the children will need. But I'm afraid life probably won't be much different for you than it was for quite some time."

Wynne had said nothing until now, and Elissa had half forgotten she was there. "I was thinking, if I might be so bold, that Goldanna has a great many skills herself." She turned toward Goldanna, and added, "I doubt any woman who works as hard as you have wants to subsist on charity."

Goldanna pursed her lips, but Elissa thought this was probably a fair assessment. She might want more than she had, especially given how she'd long believed her brother to be living, and given how her poverty had been the result of her loss of her mother to the king, as she saw it, but she did work hard. She had no real understanding of wealth, but she knew the terrors of their lack. Goldanna nodded cautiously, "It's not charity I want," she began, but she didn't know how to phrase what she did want. Justice, in a sense, Elissa thought. Some tangible reparation for the hard life she'd endured only because the king had taken a fancy to her mother. 

"I know," Wynne said soothingly. "I was thinking, Alistair's a bit broader than Cailan was, but really, there's no need for him to still be running around in clothes that are half-ragged when his sister is such a good seamstress. A few changes and Cailan's old things could easily be made to serve."

 _Oh, silver sword of mercy._ Elissa thought frantically. Alistair could be so strange when it came to his brother. She made what she hoped was an I'm-listening noise.

Wynne went on. "And I suppose Anora has taken her things to Gwaren, but some of Queen Rowan's old things are probably still around here somewhere." Remembering Highever Castle, that seemed likely. 

"I really ought to speak to Teagan about that," Elissa said quickly. 

"Mmmh," Wynne said. "I doubt anything dear to Eamon or Teagan has not all ready been returned to them, but you are of course right." 

Oddly, Alistair accepted this plan without comment, and by the time the begging letter to Teagan had been returned with only "of course, dear lady," added to the bottom, Goldanna had selected a suitable shirt for alteration, and begun work. 

Oswyn added her to the palace staff under the title "Mistress of the Robes", and appointed Cormac, Niav and Sian pages. This seemed to satisfy everyone, and Wynne was smiling her dined-on-avian cat smile. 

By dinnertime, Alistair had something to wear, and Niav had helped Elissa go through Rowan's old things. Fortunately, unlike Alistair, Elissa was smaller than her hand-me-downs, so fitting into them was not a problem, and Niav took a few of the plainer ones off to wash. 

"Now this," Leliana said approvingly over dinner, "is lamb."

"D'you like it?" Alistair returned happily. "I had them make it all Orlesian style just for you." 

Leliana laughed happily. "You had no idea it was going to be lamb!"

Alistair shook his head. 

"Alistair made what he called 'traditional Ferelden lamb and pea stew' while we were on the road," Leliana informed the rest of the table.

"Yes, because somehow I almost always got stuck with the cooking," Alistair said. "Why was that?"

"I would have cooked for you anytime, Alistair my friend," Zevran said wickedly.

" _Pas devants les enfants_ ," Leliana told him.

"What was that Leliana my dear? Was that Orlesian for 'Zevran, you rogue'?" he returned.

"I think it was Orlesian for 'Don't be so bloody Antivan at the table'," Alistair said, and blinked when Gavin, who had yet to utter a single word in front of Elissa, once more giggled. Alistair blushed when he realised why, and everyone else stifled giggles.

"I think," Elissa said then, "it was more a case that the rest of us couldn't. Zevran's cooking was suspiciously, ah, Antivan, Morrigan's even more 'traditional' than yours, Oghren's penchant for nug terrifying, Leliana only knows how to make pastry, which we never had the ingredients for…"

"Yes, yes. I get it. So why didn't you cook? As I recall nobody ever complained when you cooked," Alistair pointed out.

"Who would dare?" Zevran remarked rhetorically, but Elissa had been dropped from the cooking rota early in their journey, before Zevran had joined them.

"All I can cook is roast, and the last time I did, a bereskarn burst into camp on the trial of the smell," Elissa reminded him baldly. A bit more skill at the 'feminine arts' would have saved them all a lot of hassle on the road. It had been Alistair they'd all turned to for mending and darning, too, until Wynne arrived.

"Oh yeah," Alistair said nodding.

"What's a bereskarn?" Cormac asked, curiosity finally overcoming his shyness. 

"A very large, spiky bear," Alistair told him. "Which are fortunately not at all attracted to vegetables." 

"Or Alistair's idea of stew," Leliana added, laughing. 

Goldanna, Elissa noticed, had smiled wanly at Alistair's attempt to be a good influence on her children, but throughout the dinner, she never spoke.

+++ +++ +++ 

Nonetheless, the next morning, thanks to her efforts and those of Wynne and Niav, the King and Queen of Ferelden actually looked like the King and Queen of Ferelden when they were received by the Grand Cleric Elemena.

Despite Alistair's words to Teagan, he attended the meeting. "Your Grace," he began, hiding his nervousness.

"Alistair," Elemena said with a good deal of familiarity. "It is a pity that we could not speak longer at your coronation."

 _No, no it's not_ , Alistair thought. _It's just fine._ But he was determined to get through this discussion without annoying her. There was too much at stake. "I'm glad we have the chance to talk now, your Grace."

"I'm sure you're aware that I was not happy when Duncan recruited you to the Wardens," she added.

Alistair was thrown by this, and it irritated him. She'd always been able to do this, and it irritated him further to see that she still could. But why else would she dreg this up? But he merely said, "I recall."

She nodded. "Well, I am pleased to see all that you have accomplished in the interim. Perhaps the Maker himself had a hand in taking you from us."

Alistair blinked at this. "Perhaps, your Grace," he murmured.

"Those who leave the Chantry's fold rarely have such good outcomes," she observed.

 _Mainly because the Chantry makes sure they do not_ , Alistair thought, though he buried his annoyance deep. He could not afford to behave like a petulant boy today, for if he did, it was not him alone who would be punished. "Indeed, your Grace."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with us today, your Grace," Elissa slid in politely. "We know that all hands here at the Chantry are very busy, and we do not wish to disturb you any longer than we must." 

"Dealing with the aftermath of the Blight," she sighed. "Oh yes. So much to do, between tending for the wounded, and helping the Elves, most of whom never even left the city, and now with refugees starting to return…" she did seem weary, Alistair thought. 

"I'm afraid I've come to ask for more from the Chantry," he told her frankly.

She peered at him intently. 

"We have a proposal to put before you," Elissa added with her usual sense of the politic. 

"Yes," Alistair said. "I realise the Denerim Chantry is overburdened and funds are stretched everywhere, but I was hoping to ask the Chantry to… give generously to the city. I realise where the funds will be coming from, of course, but I cannot approach Orlais for aid, not with all the suspicion of us that Loghain spread. It would cause unrest."

Elemena nodded slowly. "Yes. And unrest would have to be put down, and that would not help matters. If only it wasn't the market district that was hit so badly. It hardly seems the best place to send money in these times."

"The market district and the Alienage," Alistair said. "Rebuilding Andraste's birthplace."

"No, no," she said. "You're quite right. And of course the magic of money is that it creates wealth as it passes hands. It's just the look of the thing." This went right over Alistair's head, but he nodded gamely and made a mental note to discover later what the Grand Cleric had meant. "I expect the money will be released, and quickly too," she told them confidently. "Thedas was spared the Blight through Ferelden's actions, and gratitude will encourage generosity while it lasts."

"Thank you, your Grace," Elissa said. 

"Yes," Alistair said, remembering himself. "Thank you."

Elemena waved this away. "With the city taken off your hands, what do you plan to do?"

Alistair shook his head. There was little danger in being honest with Elemena, after all. "There's almost no money to do anything with. We're waiting on word from Amaranthine and Highever as to the state of their treasuries, and assuming we don't have to send in bookkeepers to sort out how much of Amaranthine's treasury rightfully belongs to Highever before we can accept the funds… Alfstanna is cautiously optimistic about donating to the crown, but can't promise anything until it's clear how many refugees will end up settling in her bannorn…" Alistair said, and then remembered Sighard. "Dragon's Peak is donating to the crown… but most of the banns are borrowing off each other. The gold that's currently in the treasury is going on reclaiming farmland in the south to avoid a famine there."

"How will you feed the capital?" Elemena asked.

"Amaranthine," Alistair said promptly. "I'm starting to wonder if we'll have to introduce rationing at some point… things are so bad everywhere."

"Best not to say that too loudly, Alistair," Elemena advised. Alistair might have bristled, but she sounded so sad saying it. "It may be necessary, but when word gets out you'll see hoarding and all sorts of other unpleasantness. Best to keep it quiet as long as possible." Of course, Elemena had lived long enough to see all sorts of unpleasantness, Alistair reflected. 

"Thank you, your Grace," he said solemnly. Her sadness reminded him of the other matters he wished to raise with her. "I know that I… never took my vows," he began. "But I cannot help but regard the templars as sort of brothers," he managed, stumbling over the thoughts more than the words. "We reported it to Mother Boann when it happened, but I thought I would like to bring it up with you. Ser Otto --"

"Yes, Boann told me. A sad case indeed," Elemena sighed. "It was good of you to bring the matter to the Chantry's attention."

"No," Alistair said. "What I mean is, we feel terrible that he died, but he was fearless. And so many would have turned around and left when they realised it was not maleficarum they faced, but demons. And he really cared about the suffering of the Elves. That's… so rare." Elemena was watching him intently as he spoke. "I was thinking that when the orphanage there is rebuilt, eventually, we could maybe name it after him?" 

"Why do you care so much about the Alienage, Alistair?" she asked, face unreadable.

"I just -- when we went there, there was sickness running rampant, and Loghain, instead of sending help, just used it as a cover to sell slaves to Tevinter. They weren't even told in time to flee that the darkspawn horde was coming. The old arl's son used their weddings to carry off girls to be violated. And the rest of the city barely notices! Andraste freed the slaves, your Grace, and I have to be king of all Ferelden, not just the humans." 

Elemena's face broke into a slight smile. "'Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written'. Perhaps we did teach you something after all."

"Indeed, your Grace," Alistair said, not desiring in the least to dwell on all the lessons he'd learned in his time in the Chantry. "There was one final matter. I am curious of what became of Knight-Lieutenant Irminric?"

"Another sad case," she said. "Currently he is at his sister's estate recovering from his ordeal. Unfortunately, given as I believe you know, the ultimate result of the templars' reliance on lyrium, we may have no choice but to retire him to Val Royeaux."

"Surely not," Alistair said. "I mean, in his case it was the withdrawal of the lyrium, not over consumption…"

"I understand from his sister that his recovery is only progressing very slowly," Elemena said quietly. 

"I'm sorry," Elissa broke in, "what exactly are we talking about?"

"There is a cost to every templar for the service he gives to mankind," Elemena told her seriously. Alistair was glad he didn't have to. He didn't even want to think about it, or how easily it could have been his fate. "In order to perform their duties and to enable them to resist the power mages command, templars are given lyrium. It is highly effective, and grants them great protections against those they must fight. However, it is inevitable that they will become dependent on it, and ultimately, should they live long enough, it will cause their minds to deteriorate. When this happens, they are retired to live out their lives in the care of the chantry of Val Royeaux, where their order is headquartered." 

Elemena paused, and seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing. "In the Knight-Lieutenant's case, he really ought to have had several more years -- decades -- before having to worry about this, and it is not unknown for templars to be cut off from their lyrium supply for one reason or another. Reintroduction of lyrium is generally successful at curing the… disturbance the templar suffers during this time. But this has not happened in Knight-Lieutenant Irminric's case. I am forced to conclude that it is either the unusually long withdrawal period, or Howe's torment, or, perhaps, both, that damaged his mind, but the damage appears irrevocable. I would bring him here, but Bann Alfstanna is most insistent on keeping him nearby, and I can hardly overrule her when we have so many others to look after at present."

On that sad note, they departed, but Alistair could not help continue thinking of it as they returned home. "If the Chantry didn't… corral the mages in the tower the way they do, we wouldn't need templars. And they do just fine, the Rivaini, and the Dalish, without them."

"Mmh," Elissa said. "I think it's possible they don't do as well as we assume. I don't think you believe that Tevinter is nearly as free of the corruption of blood mages as they claim, do you?"

"No," Alistair agreed. 

"And when I think of how long Zathrian's curse endured, and none of the Elves dared confront him with their suspicions, even after it rebounded on them… I doubt things are quite so idyllic as the Chantry's detractors would have us think."

"I'm not suggesting they're idyllic -- just no worse than we are. So Caladrius was a blood mage, but so was Uldred. All the templars' efforts meant nothing when it came right down to it. And it wasn't my incredibly short templar training that destroyed him either, it was down to brute force and the Litany of Adralla, which was written by a mage and given to us by a mage."

"I suppose," Elissa said thoughtfully. A short while later she asked, "How much of the history of the templar order did you study?"

"A bit, I guess," Alistair told her. "Why?"

"The Chantry didn't create the templars. They were an entirely separate organisation that hunted mages. Eventually, the Chantry managed to … ah, bring them heel, I suppose one might say." She paused, and looked at Alistair frankly. "How long do you think it would take, if you disbanded the templars, for another such organisation to arise?"

"Maker's breath," Alistair sighed. "You're right. And I'm an idiot. Why did you make me king when I'm such an idiot?"

"You're not an idiot, Alistair," Elissa frowned. "Besides, what choice did I have? Anora openly sided with Loghain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all leading somewhere, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bad dreams, hard truths, and a plot thickens...

Elissa had almost fallen back to sleep when Alistair's soft snores turned to moaning. She reached out and shook him awake.

"Please!" he cried softly, and then blinked in the dim light. "Oh," he said groggily, sitting up. "Bad dream."

Elissa frowned and sat up too. _A very bad dream indeed by the look of it_ , she thought.

"Not darkspawn," he told her. 

"Elemena?" she asked. 

She saw him shake his head. "I would have almost expected that. No, it was the arlessa." 

_The_ arlessa: Isolde. Elissa had never told Alistair, but she'd been tempted by Jowan's offer, and not just because the situation in Redcliffe was so volatile. Isolde had been so hateful of Alistair that she couldn't even be grateful that he'd saved the lives of everyone in her village. And then she'd been so craven about taking responsibility for her actions -- what had happened to Redcliffe had happened because she'd forsaken the teachings of the Chantry she purported to love so much, and yet she believed herself to be blameless.

Alistair had never told Elissa much about his time at Eamon's, particularly after Isolde's marriage to the arl, but Elissa doubted she was reading too much into it. If she would treat a grown man like that in front of someone he regarded as something like an uncle, how much more spitefully would she behave to a child in her power? Elissa's real question was about Eamon, and why he hadn't put a stop to it, but even there theories suggested themselves: the whole Connor incident had demonstrated that Isolde had both willingness and ability to go behind Eamon's back to achieve her own ends; and even if Eamon was aware of Isolde's behaviour toward Alistair, he might have felt any attempt to interfere would only further convince Isolde that Alistair was his son, and thus make things worse… in any case, Elissa had dared not broach the subject with Alistair. He'd defended Isolde despite all she'd done, to him, and to Redcliffe. 

She thought, seeing him sitting upright in the dark of their room, no one around to overhear, that she might dare, now. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked softly. 

"I used to dream about her all the time in the chantry. Nearly any time I dreamed about being back in Redcliffe she'd turn up in the dream to spoil it. It's been so long I guess I thought I'd stopped." It spoke indeed to the power his childhood memories had over him, given that his response to dreaming about being imprisoned in Fort Drakon was to turn over and try to fall back to sleep. "I guess you all ready know she was cruel to me." He met her eyes directly.

Elissa nodded, not wanting to break his train of thought -- or perhaps trust? -- and very quietly but firmly said, "Yes."

"She used to beat me for every little thing. I know that sounds like whining. What child doesn't think being thrashed is unfair? But it was unfair." 

Elissa hadn't been thrashed often, but then she'd been an unusually well behaved child according to the adults around her. Fergus was another matter entirely, but both of them had largely been begrudging about accepting the consequences of their actions. "I don't think you're whining," she told him, straightforwardly. 

He looked -- baffled, but whether it was because of her words or his own memories, she couldn't tell. "It wasn't even that it was often so unnecessary -- which I knew, because none of the other boys were beaten as much." He stopped again, and Elissa just sat quietly next to him. She didn't know what to say, but maybe there wasn't much need for her to do other than listen. "It was worse when I got a bit older and she'd -- arrange, I guess, for someone else to beat me." The not-quite flat way he said this tore at Elissa's heart in a way that the mere words, terrible as they were, could not. He rested his head on the wall behind him, and stared distantly into the dark.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "One day -- one really bad day -- she'd given the stable master some reason to beat me, I don't even know what it was…" he shook his head. "I don't mean I've forgotten, I mean, I never even knew. That was in the morning sometime. By that point, I'm not sure I even cared why anymore, because it wasn't like I could do anything about it. Then later, I heard her shrieking in the stables, and I just… I ran and hid. Cowardly, I know. And when they came to drag me back, it was taken as a sign of guilt. Eamon used to have this bridle that belonged to his sister, Queen Rowan. Anyway, either Rowan or Eamon must have given it to Isolde, but that day it broke. I don't know if it was just age, or if Isolde broke it using it, or whatever. But she blamed me, and the fact that I'd hid made me look guilty. She told Eamon that I'd done it on purpose, as revenge for that morning's beating. I told Eamon I was innocent, but I guess he believed Isolde when she insisted that I was lying. What could I do? So I apologised to Eamon and told him it was an accident and that I'd hid because I knew Isolde would be angry." 

He turned then to look at Elissa, and she was startled to see, in the dim light, tears glittering on his cheek. It was clear he expected her to say something, needed someone to acknowledge his words.

But all she could manage was a not-entirely-steady, "Silver sword, Alistair."

"Of mercy?" He snorted. "Eamon thrashed me, of course. But he could hardly do otherwise. And now I wonder, but at the time I thought he'd beaten me especially hard. But it probably just seemed like that because of the earlier beating." Alistair wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Most humiliating day of my life. It's so stupid, you'd think with everything I've seen since it wouldn't matter, but I still… and it's that I gave in to her, you know? That I ran away, and then that I lied, so I wouldn't be beaten more for lying, on top of everything else. On one hand, I feel like, well, I shouldn't have done it and maybe I deserved what I got because I did, right? But then I think 'if I saw someone doing that to someone else', and it seems like maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. But either way doesn't matter. I can still feel it now, the shame of it."

Elissa reached for Alistair's hand and squeezed gently. She simply had no words.

"I wasn't brave about beatings when I was small. I know some children can be quite stoic, but I wasn't, not really. I got better about it as I got older though. Doubt I even shed a tear that morning, but I pleaded with Eamon… to be gentle, I guess."

_For mercy_ , Elissa thought. They sat in silence for a while. Elissa knew she had to say something. Alistair may mostly just have needed to say all this aloud, but he also needed, somewhere in his heart, for someone to finally acknowledge what had been done to him. 

"It wasn't long after that that they packed me off to the monastery," he told her, voice stronger, flatter now. "I think it was that, in part. Sometimes now I wonder if that had been Eamon trying to protect me the only way he knew how, but at the time I was so angry. At them, and at myself, because I assumed Eamon had finally given up on me, and decided that all the horrible things Isolde said about me were true. He used to try to defend me, a bit. Tell Isolde that I was just a boy, and whatever I'd done, that it wasn't malicious. That sort of thing. But when they sent me to the chantry, I thought he'd decided I really had broken Isolde's bridle as revenge, and given up on me." 

"I'm sorry, Alistair," Elissa said finally, softly. All her words had left her now, and all she was left with were platitudes. "She was wrong to do as she did."

"I know that. But it doesn't change anything. I mean, about how I feel. You know how you sometimes wish you could just go back to one moment, and just change that because that's where it all went wrong?"

"Yes," Elissa said. She knew it well. If only she'd stayed up reading, or conversing with Dairren, or Maker knew what. If only she'd had some inkling, some way to prevent what would happen. If only she'd woken up earlier! "I know it."

"I used to think it was that day with the bridle. If only I hadn't run away, Eamon might have believed me. I had a reputation for being quite honest, you see, even though I knew I was going to be beaten for… whatever it was that time. They never seemed to realise that since I knew I was invariably going to be beaten anyway, I might as well not be beaten more for lying. It was really more pragmatism than moral virtue, but I was a child. But now, I think… if that hadn't happened, and they'd never sent me to the monastery, maybe I'd never have met Duncan, or you." 

"What happened with Connor?" Elissa asked suddenly.

"Oh," Alistair said. "I imagine they've sent him off to the Circle by now. It must be terrible for him… one moment, he's the arl's heir, the next he's some poor bastard stuck in the tower with the rest of them."

Yes. One moment he holds the potential to rule the fates of many, the next, barely any say in his own. Elissa could empathise. "I didn't quite mean that. Connor summoned the demon, and by his own admission, it wasn't even entirely an accident. He'd studied Jowan's books in the hopes of finding something to help his father. And then he pretended to Isolde and Teagan that he couldn't remember what happened." Though he'd confessed what he'd done to her and Alistair, proving that he did remember. Elissa, not trusting Isolde, had told only Teagan. It had not seemed wise to keep anything about Redcliffe's demon a secret. Alistair was looking at her expectantly now. "Was he thrashed?"

Alistair's brow furrowed, but Elissa couldn't tell if it was in thought, annoyance or both. "I don't know. I doubt it. I hope not."

"Why?" She asked gently. 

"Why?" he asked, sounding confused. "Because he didn't mean to, and what he did, he was just… reacting to events as best he could. Of course he shouldn't have made a deal with the demon, but it wasn't like he could even grasp what that meant! And then he had to watch everything the demon did -- to the village, to the castle staff, and he remembers it! What possible purpose would thrashing him serve?" Alistair took a breath. "It's one thing, you know, smacking a child for trying to stick his hand in a fire. It teaches him that pain hurts, and prevents him from getting himself maimed. But I've never understood the idea that beating a child who's all ready hurt himself does anything but teach him…" Alistair trailed off, clearly searching for words. "Teach him… you know, I'm not sure what it could possibly teach him except to fear his parents. Guardians. Whatever." He looked at her closely. "Please don't tell me that you think…"

"No," she said. "I agree with you."

"If they'd caught him before he summoned the demon," Alistair said. "It might have been different." He shivered, and Elissa didn't think it was solely due to the cool of their room. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I grant, Connor could not truly understand the risk he was taking when he summoned the demon, but he did know it was wrong, and gravely wrong, and all that befell Redcliffe did so as a direct consequence, yet you hold Connor largely blameless for all that happened. And even now you hold yourself to blame for lying to avoid a worse beating then the one you all ready knew there was no escaping."

"I know it sounds mad, when you put it like that, but I do. I really do," Alistair admitted.

"And you think that because it ended with you joining the Wardens, and meeting me, that you shouldn't blame Isolde for what she did. If you'd never met me, you wouldn't have known to miss me, and you would probably have had a great deal more happiness and less pain over the years." She shook her head. She wasn't explaining this at all well. "You don't owe Isolde any thanks because you've finally found happiness Alistair. But for her, you'd have been happy this whole time."

"But I’m glad I met you," Alistair said. 

"I'm glad I met you, too, Alistair," Elissa said. "But that doesn't make me grateful to Howe for butchering my family."

Alistair blinked. "Oh, yeah. Right." He took a breath. "Good point."

"I think you should tell Eamon," Elissa said.

"What? No! Wait, which part? Not… all of it?" Alistair asked. 

"That you didn't have anything to do with the bridle being broken. Why you lied. Why you hid." Elissa said. "That you thought that's why you were sent away."

Alistair was quiet for a long moment then. Elissa was starting to wonder if she should say something more when he finally said, "You're probably right. But I don't think I can." 

"You told me once you needed to have a conversation with him when he recovered. I think you were right," Elissa said gently. 

"If he wouldn't put Isolde aside for Maric, I can't see him doing it for me," Alistair told her. "It's not even like I want him to." 

_I think you forgot an 'anymore' at the end there, my love_ , Elissa thought. "I'm not suggesting that he put her aside," she said, though Elissa wished she could do just that, and thought it telling that it was the first thing that popped into Alistair's mind. 

Isolde's first acts -- finding Jowan, hiding Connor's talent -- may have been hypocrisy of the highest order, but the acts themselves were venial, in the grand scheme of things. And Elissa may not have children herself -- yet or ever -- but she had an inkling of the brutal lengths parents would go to, to protect their child. And yet, had Elissa summoned a demon, that ensnared her father and not only left Highever vulnerable to attack but then carried out the attack… Elissa had no doubt but that Eleanor Cousland would have stuck a dagger in her neck. Her mother might not have been able to live with herself afterwards, but she would not have sacrificed all those lives to spare one, even one so precious. Isolde had watched Connor destroy Redcliffe, and not only had she not acted to save it, but conspired with the demon to entrap its defender. It was unconscionable. 

"Eamon," she began slowly, "is a great man, I have no doubt. But he is a man, Alistair. One of the hardest things we ever learn about our parents is that they are prone to all the mistakes the rest of us poor mortals make. And you still… you look at Eamon much like I used to look at my father as a child. You look at him like, well. Like you were still a child. I know you want to apologise to him. But I think you should accept his apologies as well."

There was light coming in their window now, and Alistair closed his eyes. Against the vertigo, perhaps? 

"What if he doesn't?" Alistair asked after another long moment. 

The voice of brutal honesty at the back of Elissa's head wanted to tell him that that would be in itself very useful information, but the rest of her knew Alistair had more than enough reasons to rightly want to avoid being hurt. "Then you go on, Alistair. It's all you can do. But I don't think you should worry about it. The man kept your amulet close by all those years."

"Yeah. Thinking about it, how am I going to explain the amulet?"

+++ +++ +++ 

"I am not going to merely sit back and watch that bastard rule my city," Vaughan said.

He was drunk again, but Braden expected that. When a man had been put through everything Vaughan had in the last year, of course he would need a little time to get grips with… everything. The real problem wasn't that Vaughan was drunk: it was that he meant what he said.

"What about Howe?" Vaughan suggested.

"Howe? He's dead," Jonaley told him, confused. 

"Not the old man," Vaughan said, taking a long pull from the bottle. "He's lucky he's dead. What about his son? Thomas must be angry about his father's death at the hands of the Cousland bitch. And the farce about 'confirming' him as the arl."

"His father had you imprisoned," Jonaley said. 

"I know, you bloody fool. But that was just politics. As long as he doesn't think he's got any rights to my city, I'm content to let bygones be bygones." Vaughan pointed a finger at Braden. "Contact Howe. Sound him out. Don't tell him I'm alive, obviously. See if we can kind out where the cracks are in this romantic façade of the return of the lost king." This was accompanied by another pull of harsh liquor. "Because there will be. It all looks rosy now, with the war over, but he's only been on the throne six days. Soon enough he'll start pissing people off."

Yes, Braden thought. Clearly he already had.

+++ +++ +++ 

Elissa frowned. She really ought not have taken it. But she could hardly head off to the Circle Tower -- a day's journey each way -- and not clean out the castle first. That would have been idiocy of the first water. And when she'd seen it on the Arl's desk, a broken-and-repaired amulet of Andraste's holy symbol, she'd known it had to be Alistair's. "Tell him the truth," she said quietly. "Tell him that I took it."

Alistair looked daunted.

"It's not like he's going to thrash me," Elissa said, hoping the bad joke would be enough to lighten Alistair's mood.

"Good point. I'll tell him Zevran took it. I suspect Zevran likes that sort of thing."

There was a knock on the door, then, and their eyes met. 

"I'll get it," Alistair said.

"No!" Elissa whispered, without thinking about it. He looked at her, confused, and she realised that she sounded like a mad woman. "We're half-naked," she pointed out belatedly. 

The knock came again, more insistently this time. 

"Nobody's attacking us," he told her gently. "Nobody who's attacking would knock," he said.

"We locked the door," she reminded him, and reached down next to the bed for her sword. "Coming," she called loudly. 

Alistair followed suit, picking up his -- Duncan's -- sword. "Are we going to start sleeping in our boots again?"

But Elissa didn't answer, merely crept toward the door, trying to listen to what was going on outside. She opened it carefully, only to find herself face-to-face with a bleary-eyed Oswyn. 

"The Grey Wardens have arrived, your Majesty," he told her. 

"We'll be down in a few minutes," she told him, finally breathing again. "When we're less," _insane?_ "naked."

Oswyn bowed and wandered off, still obviously half-asleep. But then, she and Alistair had probably been awake, talking, for a couple of hours now. 

They dressed quickly, in relative silence, and made their way down to the main hall. 

A small party dressed in Grey Warden livery stood there. When they arrived, one of the Wardens approached and bowed, arms crossed over her chest. "Your Majesties," she said, her Orlesian accent pronounced, the robes she wore and staff she carried proclaiming her a mage. She turned to Elissa. "Warden Commander, I am Simone, formerly a Senior Warden of Jader. I have been sent to be your second-in-command."

"I had expected… more men," Alistair said quietly. "Is this everyone? I know the Blight is over, but there are still darkspawn throughout Ferelden."

Simone looked grave. "Most of the Wardens, I sent on to Soldier's Peak. You are to be commended for your actions in reclaiming it." Alistair nodded, looking relieved. "But I came here, because I felt I should speak to you both in person. And because I wished to see my friend one last time."

Riordan, Elissa realised. "These men then are his honour guard?"

Simone tilted her head. "Yes." She paused, as though collecting her thoughts, and turned toward Alistair. "Finally, your Majesty, I bring a letter for you from the Empress Celene. Knowing that I would be meeting with you, she asked me to bring it with me, but it is not Grey Warden business." 

She reached into her robes, and withdrew the letter, which she passed to Alistair. 

"Thank you," he said. Elissa wasn't entirely certain how to read the expression on his face. Perhaps it was simply that he was tired. "How long will you be staying?"

"We will rest today and begin our journey again tomorrow at first light. For me, to Soldier's Peak. For the rest… the road to Weisshaupt is long indeed." 

"We should… do something. Before he leaves, I mean. He was born in Highever, I believe. It seems strange to… entomb him so far away from home."

"And I understand that the Queen is also the Teyrna of Highever. Perhaps you could say a few words in both capacities," Simone said. "And as the Commander of the Grey, of course."

"No," Elissa said. "My elder brother was found, finally. Though I suppose, yes, I am currently his heir. A lot of titles for one person to hold, I know."

"Indeed," Simone said, her agreement couched in a neutral tone. But she was Orlesian; she knew the trouble nobles could make when offended.

"We would not have taken the throne if it had not seemed the only certain way to get support we needed to end the Blight. Ferelden's relationship with the Grey Wardens is nothing to be proud of," Elissa said. "But I remind myself that Grey Wardens do what we must."

Simone nodded. "Yes, there was only a little comment on the idea that Alistair might eventually become king. But when news reached Jader that the Landsmeet had confirmed you both it… raised questions. Especially when it seemed that Alistair could have ruled alone."

"I could not," Alistair spoke forcefully. "I have done everything that has been asked of me. This is the one thing I ask for myself." There was utter silence in the pause that followed this. "Besides," Alistair said, a little more jovially. "She's the brains of the operation. Everyone knows that."

Elissa smiled at Simone. She could add nothing to it. She could not explain why she had done it. Not because she didn't know -- she did. She just couldn't tell anyone. How could she? It would have sounded so petty, so asinine, to anyone who hadn't been there. The Landsmeet had accepted Alistair, but then he'd expressed his doubts in front of everyone, and Anora, apparently insensate to the fact that she'd lost, had pounced.

It had been a formality, nothing more, Eamon asking her, on behalf of the Landsmeet, to 'help them decide'. What had her choices been -- persuading the Landsmeet to let Anora keep her throne, despite her strenuous defence of her father's actions and their own decision, or forcing Alistair to take the throne over his objections? She was a Grey Warden, and before that a Cousland, and she'd do what she had to, to protect Ferelden -- from the Blight, from civil war -- but neither had seemed good options. She could see, even now, Alistair's eyes pleading with her, _don't do this to me_ , across the short distance between them that seemed, in that moment, to stretch so very far. So she had compromised. 

The Landsmeet would accept her -- she was a Cousland, and as Alistair said, many regarded her as the brains of their team; the fact that they were widely known to be in love would quell some of the rumours of a power play. But she'd done it for Alistair, not her family name. Her father had given her to the Wardens, and she respected what that meant. But Alistair had needed her. The boy who had so little, that the terrible fate that awaited every Grey Warden seemed a prize to be guarded jealously. And her life was promised in service, either way. So she made herself a queen, to ease for him the pain of his sacrifice. Even if it was assumed otherwise, the truth never could be told. 

Alistair spoke again. "Simone, would it disrupt your plans greatly to wait another day before continuing on?"

Simone hesitated. "I would like get underway quickly, but it would not be a hardship, your Majesty." She glanced at the men behind her. "And I suppose giving the guard a chance to rest before beginning their journey would make up for lengthening it a little."

Especially as a couple of days would be hardly a drop of water to them, by the end. Elissa glanced at Alistair, unsure of what he was thinking. 

Alistair nodded. "I would like to accompany you on your journey as far as Highever. We could say a few words for him there, and for Duncan as well, and then return to Denerim."

"I had planned to return directly to Soldier's Peak," Simone said carefully. "But I suppose Highever isn't far from there."

"And the road to Denerim runs past the turn off for the Peak," Alistair added. "You and Cauthrien can leave us there, and Elissa and I can make our way back here." 

Simone nodded her agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: road trip!


	6. Chapter 6

It felt both good and strange to be back on the road, Alistair thought. It felt strange that it felt good, too. The last year had been one of almost constant movement. The last week, sitting still, sleeping in a bed, that had more strange than good. Alistair knew he'd get used to it, and truthfully, he wanted to. It was nice to think of not feeling like he was running for his life constantly… but the thing was he did still feel like he was running for his life. The fact that he wasn't hadn't completely caught up with him yet. So being on the road felt like being a moving target rather than a sitting duck. He didn't say any of this aloud; he knew it sounded insane. 

Having horses was a vast improvement over walking everywhere, however. 

Everyone was quiet on the journey, though Alistair couldn't complain. He'd knew he'd been desperately quiet in he aftermath of Ostagar, and these people had known Riordan and served with him longer than Alistair had Duncan. It was strange too, knowing that his body lay just feet from you as you tried to sleep, the taint preserving the body so perfectly that it seemed he too slept, or that all around you might also be dead.

One nice thing about being amidst his fellow wardens was how quickly they all seemed to forget that he was a king. Elissa garnered more respect, as Ferelden's Warden-Commander, but Alistair suspected that was more to do with Simone's deference than the rank itself. 

Thanks to the horses, they reached Highever before nightfall on the second day. 

It was Fergus Cousland himself who opened the huge doors of Highever Castle, his face pale and shocked. "Little sister?"

"Fergus!" It was so rare to hear strong emotion from Elissa, and rarer still such delight, and Alistair was somewhat surprised to hear it now. Fergus and she had been so restrained at the coronation, and Fergus left Denerim so quickly afterwards that Alistair hadn't realised how close they were until now, how desperately hard the last year must have been for both of them. But Elissa was still speaking -- babbling, really. "I know I should have sent word, but we left so suddenly a fast rider wouldn't have gotten here much sooner, and if we were delayed, or received word that we had to turn around… I couldn't bear the thought of you worrying."

Both of them looked a little damp-eyed, Alistair thought, though Elissa smiled up at her brother and Fergus merely brushed her hair from her face. "Come inside. I will see what we can scrounge up for you and your guests."

The castle was… very empty, truthfully. Alistair guessed that Fergus, like Howe before him, had made a clean sweep of the castle, though unlike Howe he had not arrived with a force ready to take over the functions of the staff. 

As they made their way past the doors of castle Alistair wondered what his wife was thinking. Her face, often solemn, seemed so sad, and she touched the wood as she entered. 

Fergus turned to address them once more, only for his face to register surprise, and for him to drop to one knee. "Your Majesty," he said.

"Oh, no," Alistair said, realising he was babbling himself now, but he'd never been any good at controlling it. "That's -- let's not do that." Alistair couldn't read the expression on Fergus' face, head bowed as it was, but the teryn rose neatly. One of the Grey Wardens behind him snorted, and Alistair tried not to blush.

Elissa broke the odd ensuing silence. "Fergus, these men who have accompanied me are Grey Wardens. This is my second-in-command, Simone, and you perhaps already know our newest Warden, Cauthrien. The rest are an honour guard for Riordan, whose sacrifice ended the Blight. He was from Highever, as was Duncan, the man who saved my life the night we were betrayed. I was hoping that you would join us, as the Teryn of Highever, in saying a few words…" her voice trailed off, so unlike her.

"You know I'm not good at that sort of thing," Fergus said, looking agonised. "Father always despaired…" he shook his head. "I will of course do my best. How long will you be staying?"

"The honour guard wish to leave tomorrow just after dawn. Alistair and I had planned to stay a few more days, however."

"I am glad," Fergus said. "About beds," he continued. "I -- why don't you show your troops to the guard barracks and then come find me in the kitchens?"

Elissa nodded, and beckoned the rest of them to follow. The honour guard took up one full room, and their personal guard, as Ferelden's king and queen, took up another. That left Simone and Cauthrien, but Elissa didn't seem to know where to put them.

"Let me talk to Fergus first," she told them. "Why don't you wait in the main hall?"

Neither Simone nor Cauthrien said anything as they left, and Alistair thought he might know why. The guard barracks shouldn't have been empty to house their troops at all. 

Alistair followed Elissa back up with sloping floor toward, he assumed, the kitchens, when, Maker's breath, she stopped. Not the minor hesitation someone who didn't know her well might have missed, but outright stopped, as though she couldn't bear to go on. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she was moving again, rapidly, as if by doing it quickly it might make it hurt less. 

She led them into the kitchen, where Fergus was manfully stacking wood in the hearth. Alistair watched then as they both stopped, and Fergus lay down the wood in his hands, and they walked to each other and embraced. He turned away as he realised both his wife and her brother had begun to cry. 

After a moment, he busied himself with lighting the fire for Fergus. He heard Fergus murmur something finally, too low for him to catch it, and Elissa huffed a laugh. 

"We're turning the king of Ferelden into a scullery boy," Fergus said, this time loudly enough that Alistair knew he was meant to join in.

"Ha," Alistair said, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. He'd known Elissa had wanted to return to Highever, though he hadn't suggested the trip solely for her. If he'd realised exactly how painful the return would be… he wasn't sure he would have mentioned it. But he had to think of something to say. Well, he was good at babbling, and after that display in the hall, it wasn't like Fergus expected him to be eloquent. 

"I'm much more qualified to be a scullery boy than a king, I'll have you know," he managed with a great deal of mock-dignity. "I have references from the Arl of Redcliffe and the Grand Cleric of Ferelden." Well, he could have references. They might even be good ones, come to think of it. "Am I going to get stuck doing the cooking too? I ask only because the quality of my cooking has come under assault lately," he said, and Elissa smiled at this. 

"No, I think we'll manage," Fergus said. "Howe at least left a fully stocked larder." 

Alistair couldn't help but notice how awkwardly the siblings looked, staring at the pantry door, but finally, Fergus stepped towards it and Elissa followed. _Followed_. It boggled the mind. He couldn't think of a moment since Ostagar when she'd done anything but lead.

"This is where --?" He heard Fergus' voice through the open door. 

"Yes." Elissa's voice was much lower. "There," she said, "Father, at least. He… would not have lasted long after we left. I think… Mother too. She was determined to defend him. I do not think she would have been captured alive."

"It seemed unreal when you told me. But then, coming home to an empty castle. I think… I think I expected them to still be here. If not Oren and Oriana, at least Mother and Father. Nan."

"Because they always have been," Elissa said quietly.

"I suppose so." They were quiet for a moment, and then Fergus spoke again. "I just see where they should be, though. You see where they fell, don't you?"

Elissa, Alistair guessed, nodded. Probably because she couldn't speak. It was heartbreaking just listening to them. Oren, Alistair remembered, had been a child… but even a child would have disrupted Howe's plans to take the teyrnir, and so the boy had been slain.

"I've been sleeping in the main hall," Fergus confessed. "The thought of sleeping in the room where my wife and son died is just too much."

"You can have mine," Elissa said. "Mother and father's room was… also untouched. I'm sorry Fergus. I wish they'd come to my room first."

"Why would they? All the easier to slay the defenceless first." Another pause. "No, you need not apologise. No amount of wishing in the world will turn back the clock to that night, and you did nothing wrong, little sister. And you were the one who avenged us." Fergus added quietly. "You should take your room tonight. I will see about moving my things into Mother and Father's room in the morning."

"And staff. And soldiers. The castle is so empty, Fergus. It's all too easy to imagine ghosts wandering the halls. It's not good for the mind."

"I don't want it to be like I forgot them," Fergus said plaintively. 

"The last words I heard Mother speak, she told father: 'We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children now'."

"You're right. I know I'm behaving… behaving like a child. But it seems wrong to just… take on new staff. The idea of walking into the kitchen and seeing strangers, instead of Nan… it seems worse then finding it empty." 

"Nan would give you an earful for letting the fire go out," Elissa told her brother frankly.

"Don't I know it," Fergus said, sounding amused by this. "All right. I will look into staffing the castle properly tomorrow. Will you help?"

"Yes, of course," Elissa said. "I'll even cook tonight."

"Oh, good," Fergus said ironically. "Now I've turned the king of Ferelden in a scullery boy and the queen into my cook."

"Hush, you."

"No, no. I'm sure you're right. I'm sure that's somewhere in the treaty between Elethea and Calenhad."

Elissa's roast was as good as Alistair remembered. After they ate, Riordan's guards and their own disappeared to their various beds or watch posts, and Elissa showed Cauthrien and Simone to one of the castle's guest rooms, but the Cousland siblings made no move to find their own beds. It did not seem right to leave them alone, and they did not ask him to, so Alistair sat up with them as they talked. Alistair's eye fell on the bedroll carefully tucked to one side of the main hall, and considered bringing in his own and Elissa's, but somehow he doubted that any of them would be sleeping tonight. 

"It was quick, wasn't it?" Fergus said, riveting Alistair's full attention once more. 

Elissa nodded solemnly. "Howe's soldiers attacked en masse, I think. I think everyone was surprised… Oren and Oriana… I think they probably never even realised what was happening. The same for most of the others -- Nan, Brother Aldous… I think they were taken by surprise. But Father stayed up to talk to Howe... and when Howe attacked, he fought back. I didn't wake until the last second. They were almost in my room by then." 

Elissa drew a shuddering breath, and Alistair longed to reach for her, but it seemed that not even her brother dared. “I drove off the attackers who'd come for me – Mother heard the commotion in the corridor and came out swinging. Howe's soldiers had heard the fight, too, and more came, but we killed them. Mother was... Mother was... she was just so _Mother_ about the whole thing. And then we went to check on Oren and Oriana... Fergus, I can't tell you how sorry I am.” Tears streamed down Elissa's cheeks as her voice cracked, and Fergus' hands covered his face as he wept. She sucked down air, and continued, her voice steadier. “Father would not have survived long after I left, and Mother was not captured.”

Fergus looked anguished as he looked upon her once more, as though he could hardly bear to ask, but could no more bear not knowing. “How can you be so sure?” It was barely a whisper.

Her eyes were hard and bright, and Alistair wanted to stop her before she could rip out her own heart. “Because Mother Mallol and Rory were. Howe captured them, and they were taken to Fort Drakon. They died there, not long before Howe did. Howe captured them – I assume as hostages – but Loghain tortured them to death, in search of information about me. I don't know when Mallol was captured. But Rory held the doors of the castle long enough that I was able to escape.”

Alistair followed Fergus' gaze to the door they'd come through only a few hours earlier. Treacherously, his mind noted how new it was, for a castle of this age. Alistair pictured the man his wife had loved standing there, surround by his men, holding this door as the battering ram rattled their bones in their armor. Until the wood of the door shattered, and they were thrown from the force of it, hurt and even injured; most would have been slain where they lay, or as they rose to fight, but Rory... Rory had been captured. 

And what had they asked him? Oh, first it must have been simple things, stupid things. Howe would have been angry to have lost Elissa, but would have trusted to Loghain's plan to finish her. So first, it would have been easy for Rory. The questions he was asked would have been those that he could not answer, because he didn't know, or because the answers would not matter. 

But Alistair guessed that Rory had resisted answering, even so. 

Perhaps that was why he had lived; Howe was loathsome enough to torture a man who annoyed him, or simply because he could not reach the one he wished to hurt. But Howe had a kind of tactical genius, too. When all was said and done, he'd captured Highever Castle, no mean feat. Perhaps he'd simply kept Rory alive in case he was needed. 

And then he was needed, and the real questions started. _What will she do? Where will she go? Who does she trust?_

And Rory must have given them _nothing_ , because neither Loghain nor Howe ever came close to getting a handle on her. The rare occasions his men tracked her down had been blind luck, or chasing feelers they'd put out. It was never specific, never targeted. 

Oh, and how they missed a trick with that. How clever must Rory have been, to keep the true depth of his feelings from his captors? How brave, to never seek to end his torment? All it would have taken was the smallest confession: _she loves me._

_If you tell her that I live, she will come._

Alistair doubted he could have done as much. Oh, he knew pain, of old. And cruelties beyond numbering them. But he'd never had to lay there and take it while being able to make it stop. 

And for all his practice at it, he'd never been particularly good at keeping secrets. How close had he being to telling Elissa everything about the Joining, before he'd even known her an hour?

Of course, by the time they were in Fort Drakon, the fact that they loved each other was far from secret, but that was no blessing. What wouldn't he have told, to make them stop hurting her?

And she would have hated him for it. She could have borne the pain of anything but his betrayal, and he would have done it anyway, he thought. 

He was still thinking about it as they lay down, finally, in their bedrolls. Elissa had cried herself, it seemed, to the point of exhaustion, and let herself be chivvied to bed by her older brother in a way that her husband would have struggled to achieve. 

He was not looking forward to his dreams tonight; perhaps that's why he did not sleep. Fergus did, somehow, dropping off once Elissa's soft snores came from the middle roll. Fergus' were less dainty, but he couldn't help but remember something Elissa had confided about snoring: that she liked hearing it, because it meant that the people around her alive, without having to check. 

So he listened to the snores of his wife and brother in law, and stared at the door, and wondered by they didn't just burn the castle to the ground and start over. The good memories of this place were ash. Why should the bad ones not be as well?

+++ +++ +++ 

Elissa dreamed of fire.

That was not unusual, and perhaps it should not have been; she'd seen so much of it, after all. Sometimes she destroyed with fire; often she was destroyed. 

She dreamed of pyres lit and unlit; she dreamed herself a mage; she dreamed of rage demons, and herself an abomination; tonight, she dreamed of Andraste. 

It was Andraste as Elissa had always pictured her, an Alamarri barbarian, blonde, with eyes the colour of the warrior's woad she blued her skin. She was proud, even at the stake, her face turned toward the sky, toward the Maker and the once-Golden City. As the flames climbed, she stood unmoved, until Hessarian drove his sword into her.

But the dream was wrong; Hessarian did not drive his sword through Andraste's heart, as he did in the legend, but through her stomach, and as he did, she screamed – in rage, in pain, in something worse – and he plunged his sword into her again, and once more, until from her body not just blood followed, but intestines – no. That's not what it was. 

It was a child, tiny and perfect, and somehow, invisibly, monstrous. 

And as Hessarian stole the child from the flames, Elissa knew its name: _Dumat_. 

Her own stomach twisted and soured as she came awake, but she never even managed to untangle herself from her bedclothes; she turned her head and sicked on the floor. 

“Elissa!” Alistair cried, and he was at her back before she had even finished. Across from her, Fergus too was rousing, but she was too shaken to be upset that they had seen her like this. “Get Simone,” Alistair ordered Fergus as he rubbed her back. 

“I think I'm done,” she managed weakly, but Fergus looked like he didn't quite believe her, and left. 

Alistair said nothing to this, simply hauling the bedroll she was in away from the stone she'd fouled. 

“Twice she's woken from nightmares vomiting,” Alistair told Simone as soon as she and Fergus had returned. 

“Tonight?” Simone asked, blinking herself awake.

“Once tonight,” Elissa said. “Once some days ago.”

“Grey Warden dreams?” Simon asked, looking askance at Fergus, still hovering. 

“No,” Elissa said, and then, “Yes. Maybe.”

Simon stared impassively. 

Elissa sighed. “Fergus, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” His brow furrowed, but he obeyed, and once he had, Elissa told Simone everything. 

“Your Majesty,” Simone said slowly, to Alistair. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But – what?” Alistair spluttered.

“Those are not Grey Warden dreams,” Simone said. 

“That's a relief,” Alistair said, and it echoed in Elissa's thoughts. “But that doesn't explain why my wife is sick.”

“No,” Simone said slowly, “it doesn't. Please allow me to examine her.”

“Oh,” Alistair said. “Oh!” But he made no move to leave, until Simone pointed to the door. 

Elissa let Simone's questions wash over her, and then her magic, and then watched as Simone armoured herself for whatever she was about to say. “You are not sick, Warden Commander. You are pregnant. Some weeks along.”

“Tell Alistair,” Elissa said, when she could breathe again. “And tell him I need to see” _Morrigan_ “him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	7. Chapter 7

Alistair's eyes were huge when he walked back into the great hall, but he was smiling. He was smiling, and it was breaking her heart. “Simone says it's a baby,” he said.

Elissa nodded, blinking back fresh tears. 

Alistair's smile faltered. “You don't seem happy. Is it – are you still feeling sick? Are you – are you scared?”

Elissa closed her eyes. His mother had died in childbirth. Of course he was frightened for her. “Not for the reason you think,” she managed, meeting his eyes. “Yes. It's a baby. Some weeks along. But is it _just_ a baby, Alistair?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, brow furrowed and voice serious. 

“Alistair,” Elissa said, her voice breaking as her eyes filled with tears. “Think. Where was Urthemiel when he died?”

“In the sky above Fort Drakon,” Alistair said, confusion winning out amidst the emotions playing across his face. He sat down on the end of her bedroll. 

“Almost directly above us,” Elissa whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest. 

“But Riordan died. He died Elissa,” Alistair said quietly, insistently. “It can't be – whatever Morrigan wanted.” 

“Yes. He died. But did he die because Urthemiel's soul destroyed his, or did he die when he hit the ground?”

“The flash of light –” Alistair offered.

“Was Urthemiel dying, yes,” Elissa agreed. “Beyond that, who can say?”

“We need to find Morrigan,” Alistair said, his voice suddenly hard. 

“Alistair, remember that it might not mean anything,” Elissa said.

He nodded. “But it might mean everything.”

“I know,” she said, and forced herself to swallow a fresh wave of tears. They'd wanted this baby, all the more for knowing they might never have one. “Tell no-one, Alistair. We won't find Morrigan hunting her with all the armies of Thedas. But our little songbird and tame crow... they'll find her for us, wherever she's hidden herself.”

“We can't hide it forever,” Alistair said, fingers tentatively reaching for her stomach. “Sooner or later you'll start to show.”

“I don't mean about the pregnancy. Letting word of that get out might bring Morrigan back on it's own. I mean, don't tell Simone, or any of the other Wardens, about Flemeth's plot. Until we know more, I don't think we can risk it. I'm not having our child killed out of hand, or kidnapped, or Maker-knows-what-else.”

Alistair nodded. “I'm not letting you get killed or kidnapped either, Elissa. And I'm pretty sure that's what telling anyone else would mean.” 

Elissa ran a hand through her sweaty hair. Of course. Why wait? “How did it come to this?”

“Our allies being a threat to us?” Alistair asked. “Like Howe and Loghain? Aren't you sensing a theme? At least some of our enemies became friends. Orlesian bards and Antivan Crows. Maybe even a Witch of the Wilds. Depending on how it all ends, I guess.”

“We have to tell Fergus. He'll worry otherwise. You – you have to be happy, in front of him. He can't know, Alistair.”

“I understand.”

“No – I don't mean like with everyone else –” 

“I know. It would break his heart to think of anything happening to your child,” Alistair said, subdued, though they both knew, if it turned out that this really was Urthemiel reborn, this wasn't likely to end happily, or well, or even just easily. 

Elissa sucked down air against the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “Yes.”

+++ +++ +++ 

Vaughan was drinking again; Jonaley was already drunk. Braden swallowed a sigh. “What news?” Vaughan asked, swirling the brandy in his glass.

“I still haven't been able to get in to see Thomas,” Braden admitted. 

Vaughan hurled the glass against the wall; Jonaley fell off his chair, though Braden wasn't sure why he was surprised. 

Braden tried not to take it personally. “All is not lost, my lord. Word is that Nathaniel Howe will be arriving in Denerim in the next day or so, weather permitting. We could intercept him.”

Vaughan laughed and Braden smiled to hear it. “Yes. Do be so good as to _intercept_ him, for me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

+++ +++ +++ 

If Elissa had feared that her 'happy' news would fall mixed on her brother's ears, it did not. He was elated. Alistair watched as Fergus picked her up like she weighed less than his sword, and twirled her around. His hands found her belly with ease, despite the fact there was nothing to feel yet, and he looked upon her with open wonder and joy.

He looked liked Alistair had felt, for one brief moment before the darkness that chased them swallowed them up again. 

_Good news! You're having a baby. Bad news – it might be an archdemon._

Well, all children get a bit stroppy from time to time, right?

“It's right that you should be here when you learned of it,” Fergus was saying. “To think... ah, little sister I remember when Mother told me she was pregnant with _you_.”

Elissa laughed softly. 

_No_ , Alistair told himself fiercely. They were borrowing trouble. It was a child. Even with the soul of an old god, it was a _child_. Though teething might be more of an issue that usual. _No_ , he thought again. _Not helpful_. Two Grey Wardens – one from a demonstrably less-than-fertile-line – had managed to get pregnant. They'd already beaten the odds beyond any realistic expectation. Giving up hope, now... no. He would not do it. And besides. Even if it did wind up being Urthemiel reborn, well. Elissa had managed to get Zevran to stop talking about Wynne's bosom. She could probably get an archdemon to eat its vegetables and say its prayers before bed. It would be fine. It would. They would find Morrigan, and it was going to be fine. 

Although he spoke at the service for Duncan and Riordan – he for the Crown, Fergus for Highever, Elissa for the Wardens – he remembered little of it. 

What would Riordan tell them, if he could? What would Duncan say, if he knew of their fears? Somehow, he couldn't help but think neither of them would be especially pleased by their reluctance to confide in the order of a possible threat of this magnitude, regardless of what it meant for them personally. 

He was still thinking about that when they reached the turn off for Soldier's Peak. He was not the strongest man he'd ever known, nor the best or bravest. In truth, he knew himself to be quite weak in places. And yet, while he skirted duties from time to time, he'd never shirked one. And for all that... Alistair already was not going to permit the destruction of his child if there was any alternative. And he would not stand for the disappearance of his wife, either. Not when it was in his power to prevent. 

One step at a time, just like during the Blight. This seemed huge now, impossible. But it wasn't. It was a list of chores, when you got right down to it. _Go to the Circle. Help the Circle. Get the agreement of the Circle to honour their treaty promises. Find the Dalish. Help the... everyone, really. Secure the promise of the Keeper for Dalish aid. Go the Dwarves. Help the Dwarves. Pick a favourite Paragon (that was easy). Crown a king (needed the practice anyway). Get new king to sort of treaty obligations._ And so forth. It wasn't any different now. 

They were half-way to Denerim. After that, it was just a case of sending Leliana and Zevran after Morrigan. In a few more weeks, let a rumour slip out about the pregnancy. Another few weeks, and an announcement. One way or another, Morrigan would be found. After that... well, they'd do whatever they had next. It would work. 

It would.

+++ +++ +++ 

The man Taoran Hawkwind dropped on the carpet in front of Vaughan's desk was heavily bound, bandaged and gagged, but that glare could only belong to Nathaniel Howe.

“My, my, you _have_ grown up,” Vaughan said. “I remember a skinny boy chasing after his father's approval and never. Quite. Finding. It. _How_ that must have hurt.” He laughed nastily. “Much like that wound. What is that?”

Hawkwind answered for him. “He managed to kill three of my men, and wound four others. While drugged, and armed only with a pair of daggers. One of our archers got him to stop moving long enough for us to grab him.”

“Hmm. Yes. His father was rather fond of knives, too,” Vaughan said, and poured himself more brandy. “I had wanted to do this the easy way,” Vaughan continued, talking to Howe. “But your brother is being rather recalcitrant. And appears to be quite content to keep sniffing after the Cousland bitch that butchered your father. Of course, he did butcher her father first, but you'd think a Howe would have some pride. But then, _you_ never did. Perhaps I expect too much of your brother.”

Another man would be shouting through the gag by now, but Howe just stared Vaughan down, that implacable glare. 

“I would advise taking care with him, my lord,” Hawkwind said. “He is _very_ fast, and even pain doesn't slow him down much.”

“He doesn't know pain yet,” Vaughan said. 

Braden blinked. Vaughan's temperament had always run hot, but this was not the plan. Braden wasn't used to questioning his friend, but now, he thought, was one of those times when he should. “My lord,” Braden said carefully. “I thought the plan was –”

“Look at him,” Vaughan said, swirling his brandy. “The plan is shot to shit. His only use to us now is as a hostage. _Pity_ we didn't grab Delilah instead.”

Howe growled behind his gag and Vaughan laughed, knocking back his brandy and pouring more. “Shall I tell you what your father did to me? He stole my city and left me to rot in a cell for _a year_. I had to listen to the ravings of madmen and knife-ears. Oh – and he tortured your brother's friend Oswyn. Sometimes he even put on a little show for the rest of us. I have to say, I did learn a thing or two.” Vaughan drained his glass again. “Take him to the cellars.”

The Irregulars holding Howe down dragged him to his feet, and from the room. 

_So much for “that was just politics” and letting “bygones be bygones”_ , Braden thought, but then again, Thomas Howe hadn't played along, had he? And Vaughan had never been one to forget an insult at the best of times. “I have more news for you, my lord,” Braden said. “Word from Amaranthine is that Thomas Howe is losing the support of his nobles. Many of them supported Loghain, and were rewarded for it. Now those rewards are being rescinded and there is growing resentment. Lady Liza Packton had quite a pricey plot of land ripped out from under her by Thomas. There are rumours, too, that Bann Esmerelle is not quite as loyal as she claims. She's certainly very keen to keep the troops inside the city.”

“Where they can perhaps be called upon, should the need arise,” Vaughan said, starting to slur.

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Sound out Packton. If it leads to Esmerelle... have a care. I know her. She won't be quick to tip her hand. She'll expect treachery.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

+++ +++ +++ 

The Irregulars took no chances with him, Nathaniel noted with dismay. They chained him up around one of the pillars in the cellar – hand and foot – without ever loosening his bonds. He had a little bit of leeway – enough to reach the chamber pot in the corner he guessed – but that was it.

The worst moment came when one of the Irregulars took his dagger out and began to cut off Nathaniel's clothes. Even bound, Nathaniel fought like a demon, but the Irregular just stepped back. 

“I'm doing you a favour, you fool. No one here's stupid enough to untie you. So unless you want to shit in your sodding clothes, _lie still_ ,” the man snarled. 

Every instinct in Nathaniel warred. The thought of the consequences of not complying made his cheeks burn; his bladder was already uncomfortably full. But the thought of complying, even in something so practical, shamed him. Because this was how it would start. Something small. Almost mundane. And drop by drop your resistance eroded like stone giving way to water. 

But the Irregular must have taken Nathaniel's shock for agreement, because he stepped forward again, and slipped his knife under Nathaniel's shirt and sliced it open. It wasn't the knife so near to his vitals that made him lie there, he knew, though it did make him wary. He could have fought back. He should be fighting back: the thought pounded like a fist at the back of his mind. 

But it did nothing to overshadow the thought, whispering away in his head, of himself lying in his own filth when Kendells finally came for him. And Kendells _would_ come. 

And somehow, Nathaniel would be ready. 

He let the Irregular strip him, and refused to consider it a surrender. It was a concession, at most. He would be a lucky man indeed if that was the smallest one – let alone the only one – they won from him. But he would make them fight for it.

And then he would make them lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feels? Bueller?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is a dark little interlude.

“Find Morrigan, and tell her that Elissa is pregnant,” Leliana repeated seriously, her brow furrowed.

“I can't tell you any more,” Alistair said. “What you don't know, you can't be made to say.” He looked away, and then forced himself to look back at them. Bad enough that he was doing this. He would look them in the eye as he did. “I know what I ask of you.”

“I am sorrier than I can say that you do, my friend,” Zevran said sadly.

“Will you do it?” Alistair asked, sounding tired even to his own ears.

“Even should Morrigan have found her way to the throne of the Dark City, I will find her there, and give her your message,” Zevran said, with all the weight of a vow.

“Zevran,” Leliana chided. “You should not say such things.”

_No_ , Alistair thought grimly, _if only because of the thoughts it will put in my head_. 

“We will go, Alistair, of course we will,” Leliana continued. 

“You can tell no-one of your mission,” Alistair reminded them. “Not a word to anyone who isn't Elissa or I. Beyond that – use your own best judgement.”

Leliana nodded. “You are treasured friends, Alistair, both of you. Whatever it is that you ask of me, know that I go to do it gladly.”

When they left, Alistair turned back to the piles of paperwork on his desk, which had apparently mounted each other and spawned offspring in the time he was away.

He signed the amnesty agreement for the Elves that Teagan had written first – that was easy, and he was glad to have one good thing to do today. 

Then he looked through the records Oswyn had found for him. Loghain had been meticulous – there were lists of all the units assigned to, and to what part of, the battle at Ostagar; even the names of the men and women who'd served in each unit could be found. Those who survived Ostagar had been named deserters, and killed when they'd been found. Ostagar had been a massacre, and after that, a mess. Most of those who had fought there had died, that was known, but aside from those “deserters” Loghain had managed to capture-and-kill, the exact fates of any individual soldier was impossible to say. 

Alistair overturned their convictions en masse, in absentia, with a few strokes of his pen. Next came the blanket pardon of all those poor rankers who'd served Loghain honourably. The officers would be trickier... but this he could do. Few of the rank and file would even have guessed the nature of the man they'd served, and those who had would have had little choice in obeying. It did no good to blame them, and they had acquitted themselves against the darkspawn. 

Oswyn actually thanked him when he took the parchment, and Alistair felt like a heel for forgetting the boy's worries for his still-missing friend. But Alistair had no words of comfort for him; even a king's reach extended only so far.

+++ +++ +++ 

Oswyn traced his friend's name with his finger, before dipping his pen into the inkwell again, and jotting into the ledger next to it, a single word: _Pardoned_.

Despite Oswyn's search of all of Loghain's records and all of Fort Drakon, he had yet to find any trace of his friend. It pleased him to see how completely Sven had slipped Loghain's net. But it worried him, too. Even if he'd fled, there had been so many dangers. There had been skirmishes all over the Bannorn, and the way Sven spoke that night... Oswyn knew that Sven might easily have joined up with a bann who'd thrown his lot against Loghain. Or he might simply have been swallowed up by the Blight. If he'd fled north, so many refugees had been captured by slavers preying on the ships bound across the Waking Sea. Proof that Sven had evaded Howe and Loghain was no guarantee that he'd found safety. 

But this pardon... this was something. It would have comforted Sven, Oswyn thought, to know that his king held him blameless in the death of his brother. It would not have eased entirely the burden of his guilt, he knew. Cailan's death had weighed heavily on Sven. 

Much as Sven's disappearance weighed on Oswyn.

+++ +++ +++ 

Nathaniel had a good map of the cellar he was in; this room had clearly been a wine cellar, and there were two doors leading from it. South, it led upwards into a corridor behind the kitchen. West led into another cellar, the root cellar he suspected. If he was right, if he was lucky, it was the root cellar. If he was... that was his way out. That would have an exit to the surface.

There were problems with this plan. The first was he couldn't be sure it was the root cellar to the west, though he had heard people coming and going from it, which was promising; the second, he couldn't be sure that the door between them wasn't locked; third, he only got brief glimpses of the room he was in when his guards came – the rest of the time he sat it total darkness; fourth, they only ever brought water.

That last was growing more pressing by the day; he couldn't even be sure how long he'd been forced to endured like this. They brought him enough water to sustain life, and that barely. Nathaniel split it between drinking, and cleaning his wound, through he had to grit his teeth to do it. The first day had not been so bad, before he'd realised exactly how stingy they would be. After that, it took an effort of will not to gulp the whole bowl, and the sound of the water running from his wound onto the stone set his teeth on edge. Worst of all, if he was right, they were only bringing him water once a day, and that meant it had been four days since he'd been shoved down into this hole. 

Kendells was softening him up. 

_No_ , he answered that thought fiercely. Kendells was _trying_. He would not succeed. 

But even so, there were physical realities that Nathaniel could no more overcome than he could the chains that bound him. If the opening he needed did not come soon, Nathaniel might not be able to take it when did. He rested his head against the pillar at his back. He tried to move around a bit each day, but he had to keep a strange balance: enough to keep his muscles loose, should his moment come, but no more than that. Everything else was a waste of his depleting strength. 

He rested, and he plotted, and he prayed. _Let me be strong, let the guards be stupid, let Kendells be drunk._

And he waited. 

In the dark and silence, he waited.

+++ +++ +++ 

“Our friend in Denerim has sent news,” Jonaley announced on entering Vaughan's study.

“ _Don't_ call knife-ears friends, even in jest,” Vaughan said, his voice dripping disgust. 

“Our... agent,” Jonaley amended, “has sent news, my lord. Two of Cousland's companions have left the castle – vanished into the night, near as anyone can tell. The Chantry Sister and the Antivan knife-ear. Seems that the Antivan's a Crow – or former Crow, to hear him tell it. Speculation is rife that the pair left together, but whether it was to take out his former masters or to carry out orders for his new ones isn't clear. There's also speculation that the Chantry Sister is an Orlesian agent, and that the Crow was in her pay all along... There's also speculation that Cousland found out and killed them, but there isn't anything to support that, aside from _more_ rumours that the Bastard has been in a foul mood since he returned from Highever.”

“So nothing firm beyond that they're gone,” Vaughan said.

“There is one more thing, my lord,” Jonaley said. “Cousland's been ill since the pair returned from Highever. Grey Wardens are known to be hardy, adding weight to the rumour that she's pregnant.” 

Vaughan laughed in what Braden could only think of as malicious delight. “How perfect. They're always so much more _desperate_ when they're with child. Braden? Anything from Amaranthine?”

“Packton is biting, and not as discreet as Bann Esmerelle would like, I suspect. I have a tentative in to their group, but that's all.”

“That's enough,” Vaughan declared. “Nathaniel will be our buy-in there, if need be.”

“There have been some questions about his whereabouts,” Braden conceded. 

“Oh, Thomas will be frantic by now,” Vaughan said. “How is dear Nathaniel faring, Taoran?”

“Weakening, but still alert,” Hawkwind reported. “We haven't caught him sleeping yet. He's usually resting against the pillar he's bound to when we go down. Sensitive to light, but he would be. Other than that, nothing. He never speaks to the guards.”

“And the room next door?”

“Has been arranged to your specifications, my lord,” Hawkwind. 

“Excellent. It's past time I paid our guest a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just checking: Howe do we feel about puns? 
> 
> Anybody?


	9. Chapter 9

“How are you feeling, love?” Alistair whispered as he sat down on the bed where Elissa was dozing. 

“Ach. Ready to send Wynne to Tevinter as our ambassador,” Elissa said.

Alistair thought. “This is less about the magic and more because it's got the furthest-away capital, isn't it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Elissa said, with feeling.

“More bed rest?” Alistair said. 

“Until I can keep down water, she says,” Elissa complained. “I am! Most of the time! If I wasn't, I wouldn't be covered in so much sweat.”

Alastair brushed her hair out of her face. “You're not sweaty. You're –” 

“If you say that I am glowing, I not be pleased.”

“And so cheerful. That's what I've always liked about you. Your good humour in the face of adversity.”

“I am _stoic_ in the face of adversity,” she said crossly, and it lightened Alistair's heart to hear it. She'd been too ill after the journey back to Denerim to complain about the cosseting. “I am annoyed in the face of coddling. Tell me about your day.” 

So he did. 

“I'd like your take on the officers,” Alistair said. “Many of them knew what Loghain was up to – not at first, of course, but gradually. I know we can't punish all of them, but it doesn't seem right to just... let it all go.”

“We let Cauthrien join the Wardens, Alistair,” Elissa said. “And she personally sounded the retreat.”

“I know. But in a way, she was just following orders. I mean the ones who took to Loghain's banner for... other reasons. Like the lick-spittle we passed on the steps of Orzammar, who called Loghain his king.”

Elissa shook her head. “We'll be hard-pressed to find them, Alistair. Who knows what's truly in a man's heart? No. Where we find specific instances of dereliction or abuse we can deal with them. Beyond that, it will just turn into an ugly mess of favour-currying. Brother officers turning each other in, in the hopes of painting their own actions in a more favourable light, and no way for us to even know for certain what they knew at the time they did as they did.” She sighed, and shifted on the pillow. “You remember Orzammar. How sure are you that we picked the right king?”

“Not at all,” Alistair admitted.

“So perhaps do not be too quick to come down hard on your soldiers. Some of them knew what they were doing, yes. But many did not, and we'll never know for sure for all of them.”

“How can you be so at peace with this?” Alistair asked.

“It's war,” Elissa shrugged. “I've studied it all my life. It's ugly and messy and in the end you bury your dead and rebuild, all the while knowing that you'll do it again. Possibly sooner than you're ready for.”

“Ugh,” Alistair said. “I'd really like there to be peace. True peace. For the rest of my life, Elissa.”

“You're a Warden. You know you'll never know it,” she said. “And truthfully... I'd like a war, myself.”

“What?” Alistair looked at her in sheer surprise.

“I mean it,” she said quietly. “We can't, I know. We wouldn't win, and fighting a losing battle is one thing. Starting a losing war is entirely another. But we let Tevinter slavers into our country to steal our people. Bad enough that slavery exists at all. But we are now complicit. Ferelden owes the Elves a weregild we can _never_ repay. What can we give Soris, to console him at night as he thinks of Valora? When he wakes, alone, to face another day without her by his side? And Valora – she is beyond our reach to give anything at all. That is just one woman, and the same is true for every Elf that Loghain sold, crying 'For Ferelden' all the while.”

“Oswyn is looking for a way to bring them back. And we will, Elissa,” Alistair said.

“No, Alistair, we won't. They were taken in batches, with descriptions in place of names. We'll be very lucky to find _any_ of them. We will not find them all.” 

“Maker's breath,” Alistair said. His mind reeled. He'd promised himself that there would be justice for the Elves, but there wouldn't be, would there? Just a sop, at best. The deaths at the hands of Kendells and his ilk was bad enough. The near-loss of the Alienage because no-one bothered to warn the Elves in time before the darkspawn arrived. But deaths were one thing. You could live with the dead. You carried them within you, but they were safe, beyond all further wounding. It was the living who were the true spectres at the feast. The spectres of all you had left undone. All you had failed to do.

All you were still failing at. 

He finally understood why Elissa, and Teagan and the Grand Cleric had warned him with such certainty that there would not be peace, not truly, not for long. How could there be peace, when there was no justice?

Elissa touched his face, and he realised he had looked away; when he looked back at her, her face was solemn. “I have news, too,” she said.

“Oh?” he said, trying for normal despite his reeling mind. 

“Wynne's discovered why I am having such... difficulties,” Elissa said. 

“It's not morning sickness?” Alistair said. Though it wasn't clear to Alistair why they called it that, Elissa could sick up at any point, at just the smell of food. Even to the point that keeping water down was a problem. All right, maybe that wasn't morning sickness, come to think of it. 

“It is,” Elissa said gently, and smiled, just a little, a soft, private smile. “It's twins. They take up more room, I guess.”

“Oh. Oh!” Alistair's eyes lit up. That was twice the babies! And twice the worries. They needed Morrigan so badly. _Maker and Andraste watch over my wife, my children, my friends_ , he prayed. He was silent for a long moment. “Does this mean two god-babies? Or that Morrigan's ritual couldn't have worked? Do we have any idea? Is one a demon-god and the other just going to have the worst case of sibling rivalry in the history of Thedas? One old god, one arch-demon? One tainted, one not?”

Elissa drew a deep breath. Oh, he wasn't going to like this, he could already tell. “Alistair...” she said slowly, like she did when she was about to tell himself she thought he'd already known. “They're both tainted. That has nothing to do with Morrigan. All children born of Grey Wardens are tainted. Morrigan told me as much, and so did Simone, separately. It won't... make a difference. They won't be ghouls, and they're not exactly Grey Wardens –”

“What does 'not exactly Grey Wardens' mean?” Alistair interrupted.

“No darkspawn dreams. They won't be drawn to the horde. But some of them are somewhat tougher than average, with," here Elissa grimaced, "a somewhat shorter average life expectancy. Simone said it's thought that it's like a shadow of Joining. There's a drop of an archdemon's blood used in the Joining ritual – which is why we can hear them. That... doesn't seem to affect the children.”

“That's something, at least,” Alistair said. 

“But they do carry the taint; other Grey Wardens can even sometimes sense it. There's more,” Elissa said. “Simone told me that it's widely speculated among the Wardens that it wasn't Anora who was barren. It was Cailan.” 

Alistair blinked at this non-sequitur. He'd never heard of this until now. And he could honestly have gone his whole life without learning it. Valiantly, he pushed that aside. “That doesn't seem like the kind of thing that Simone would volunteer,” he said instead. She'd been so careful of them, so plainly wary of nobles and the trouble they could cause. 

Elissa nodded. “Both Maric and Rowan spent time in the deep roads. Rowan, in particular, is thought to have been... affected by it, but it seems likely that they both were, even if it wasn't exactly the taint.”

“You mean that it was exactly the taint, but not enough to turn them into ghouls.”

“I don't know, honestly. But our children should be relatively normal. Healthy.”

“As normal as Cailan ever was, anyway,” Alistair joked, lying on the bed next to her, and then sobered. _It wasn't Anora who was barren. It was Cailan._ “But even assuming this isn't... Morrigan's doing, will they be healthy? They're likely to be infertile. That's not exactly the peak of health. Nor is 'shorter than average life expectancy', Elissa.”

“Apparently it's not true of all children born to Grey Wardens. We're borrowing trouble, Alistair. Wardens are rarely fertile, after all. If our line ends with our children instead of us, what difference does it make? If they don't live to see their seventies, does that mean they should not have lived at all?” 

He remembered what she'd told Fergus, her mother's last known words: _We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children now._ Every child left the nest eventually, right? Somehow, he never imagined that that process started before they were even born. He had no idea what to do, but it gave him no peace from the urge to _do something_. “I never thought I'd actually want to see Morrigan,” Alistair admitted. 

Elissa laughed, and he smiled at the sound. It had been a while since he'd heard it.

“Twins, huh?” He felt Elissa nod as he curled into her side. “Huh.”

+++ +++ +++ 

Nathaniel drank first. That was most important, and his hands shook, now. If he spilled too much, while cleaning his wound, he might actually die for all the care his captors took of him. And while a part of him could not help but consider that there were... advantages to such a scenario, the rest of him held firm. He would not die.

Not without Vaughan Kendells' blood on his hands, first. 

He waited until the guards had retreated to the stairs to take the cup. It wouldn't do to lose the light, and possibly knock the cup over in the dark, but all the same he would not simply grab it like a starving hound. 

He lifted it with care, waiting until they were gone before taking a deep but measured drag of it. He could not gulp all of it. He could not. Would not. He was an archer; he was a master of tension. He knew how to hold himself still, how to wait. 

As he swallowed, he caught the taste of something on his tongue – subtle, but there; it took him a moment to place it: adder's kiss. He put the cup down, panic welling up within him. He was trained, well enough to taste it, and it had been diluted in the water. They must have intended him to drink it all. So he'd had about a third of their intended dose. They had not meant to kill him – that was almost certain. 

He could feel the pain starting to creep through his guts. _He is_ very _fast_ , Hawkwind had said. They'd probably hoped to knock him out, or cripple him with the pain, or perhaps just slow him down. So. They were coming to him. 

He reached for the cup as gingerly as he could; once his fingers closed on it, he picked it up and hurled the contents as far from him as possible, and then placed the cup on its side. And then he lay down on the floor, curled away from it, letting the pain wash over him, not bothering to school his features. 

And he waited.

He did not have to wait long. The door to the cellar opened again, and he counted four pairs of boots on the stairs. As they came into viewing range, he cracked his eyes enough to check their identities: Hawkwind, and three others. No sign of Kendells; Hawkwind and one of the others each held a crossbow on him. _Clever of him_ , Nathaniel thought as another wave of pain racked him. He grunted when the other two grabbed him, but he didn't do more than struggle weakly. Now was not his moment, but he would use it all the same, to lull them into a false sense of security. 

His chains were unbound, but his hands were not; Hawkwind, at least, was taking no chances. He could have admired that, from a distance, but here it was unsettling. Now was not his moment, but what if his moment never came?

Hawkwind opened the westward door – _no lock_ , Nathaniel filed away deliberately; he'd ceased struggling, listing instead against the men who held him. There were stairs up westward as well as south – it was the root cellar, and, if he was lucky, barred only from the inside.

Well, it had been a root cellar; as Nathaniel turned his eyes from the exits to the centre of the room, it became clear that the table he was being dragged towards was not being used to store jam. It had been fitted with thick, wide leather straps. He made a show of struggling again, as they dragged him closer, though heart in his mouth he knew there was no escaping this; they hoisted him onto the table without trouble, and Nathaniel knew, though it brought him no comfort, that even if he'd struggled with all his remaining strength, he would never have slipped his guards. 

He writhed when they stretched him out on the table. It wasn't an act, though he could have hidden his pain, he told himself, if he'd wished; there was just no point. Better that they think him weaker than he was. Better that they underestimated him, and better, too, because if they thought him too weak from the poison, they might take care with their tortures. 

He blinked fiercely, to get used to the light; only when he was securely bound did Hawkwind send one of the guards for Kendells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm a little evil, leaving it there. But as Nathaniel and Varric will tell you, the arc of tension is everything.


End file.
